The Incredibles and The Gamer
by cmkovalenko
Summary: Michael popped his knuckles as an impish smile crossed his face. "This is it" he thought. "We’ll now see how the Incredibles handle my powers." - 5 years after the movie. Who is this man? What does he want? What challenges await the I's? Please Review
1. Prologue

**The Incredibles and The Gamer**

**Disclaimer:** "The Incredibles" is property of Disney and Pixar. The characters, names, objects, and places mentioned in this work which are part of the original movie "The Incredibles" are thus the property of Disney and Pixar. Some names and characters have also been used which are property of Nintendo and Sega and are respectively credited. All other names and characters are of my own design are to be properly credited to me.

**Writer's Notes:** The events in this story are patterned after the concepts and settings found in the original movie. The time period is reminiscent of the 70s and 80s, following Brad Bird's 60s appearance of the original, yet is meant to feel timeless. Thus this story takes place in an alternate time line from our own, which has technology and other aspects which would otherwise only be found in current times (i.e. video games, advanced computers, etc.). For the reader's convenience, the year is 1974 as the story opens. Super hero work has also taken on a new perspective. By popular and legislative vote, Super Hero work is now a paid profession and extension of the civic services requiring training, education, licensing, and registration. The main emphasis is that the people are primarily responsible for looking after themselves with the supers there to uphold the law and provide assistance when requested, required, or absolutely necessary.

* * *

**Prologue**

_Metroville Tribune_

_Saturday, August 23, 1969_

_(Courtesy of the Metroville Tribune Archives)_

More than fifteen years ago the country was a different place. It was a place where names such as Gazerbeam, Blazestone, Gamma Jack, Elastigirl, Frozone, and Mr. Incredible were well known and respected. Fighting alongside the officers of the law, fantastic figures such as these could be found protecting the people in almost every major city. It was the Golden Age of Super Heroes.

But it was an era that was ended at the behest of the people. Slowly at first, and then in torrents, lawsuits against the actions of supers appeared in the courts at every level from municipal to federal: Lawsuits claiming, to varying degrees, that the supers' actions were dangerous, reckless, and against the will of the saved parties. And so began the events that lead the supers and their families down into the underground, living civilian lives and working civilian jobs while guarding the secrets of their abilities from the public eye.

Many saw this as a turn for the better, but others saw it as a crushing blow to our society. Were we indeed safer without them? What kind of reward was this for their selfless service? As time passed, there were those who longed for the days when one could look up and perhaps see Stratogail speeding through the atmosphere or Dinaguy cruising to the rescue. Doubtless, many an ex-super wished to fulfill these people's burning desire: to once again be free to serve the people.

To supers and fans alike, it seems the time has come once again. Many will recall that three months ago our fair city was attacked by a destructive robot of unknown origin. Just when it seemed that all was lost, there stepped forward a group of Super Heroes, some young and some old, to neutralize the threat. Though damages were high, none sued for them. Rescues were made, but none complained. In fact, when the fight was over, the crowds erupted with applause to welcome the supers back. It was this event that got the ball rolling.

Three days later a special session of congress was called to determine what course of action should be taken regarding the Supers and the long-defunct National Supers Association. The people took notice and they responded, not with riots this time and with only one or two protests. In their place there were rallies and overwhelming support in favor of returning the Supers to work.

Almost immediately, the congress ruled to reform the NSA and allow them to get the work of organizing the Supers on a nation level underway. Congressmen then began debating the particulars with the NSA and soon the Supers were permitted to come out of hiding, and then were released to apply to the civic services. Several months would pass before the full details would be hammered out, but little by little the shine of the Glory Days grew on the horizon.

Then yesterday, the final decisions were made. In a public address, President McCallister announced to the nation from the White House that the Supers would be returning to work. The NSA was made an extension of the existing civic services and Hero Work a career and profession. The Supers would be required to be registered with the NSA and then, if they chose to pursue Hero Work, they would be inducted into a formal training and licensing program to learn the full extent of their powers, and to establish the limits of their authority as federal law enforcement officers. From there, much depends upon the communities in need. It has been left to the cities and towns to vote whether Super Heroes be permitted to serve within their jurisdictions, thus leaving the power of choice firmly in the people's hands. Once the request is made, a city municipal department for Super Heroes is formed and supers dispatched by the NSA to assume their duties as a civil servant.

As such, under normal circumstances, the supers would carry the authority equivalent of a police officer and be able to keep the peace and enforce the law. But when the situation demands and the call made, the supers are left to do all within their power to protect the people and the community from the threat of destruction.

Already there have been many positive responses to the new initiative. Metroville's governing bodies will be holding a special city meeting to set the public ballot date for the yea or nay vote on a local super's department. However, there have been some complaints. Some still espouse the old idea that the supers are not necessary or are dangerous and are adamantly against the initiative. But these parties are small and disarrayed and thus hold little sway in the common voice which overwhelmingly supports the Supers.

Whatever the future holds, it gleams bright on the horizon. Though the Glory Days may never truly be recaptured, a new era of Hero Work promises a stunning spectacle for us all. And this time, we the people have power granted to us to sit in on the action. May we, as well as the Supers, use our powers wisely to ensure the preservation of justice and freedom in this great nation.

* * *

**Note: This is only the prologue. If this story sounds interesting, peaks your interest, has problems, or just leaves you in the dust, please review.**


	2. Work as Usual

**Chapter 1: Work as Usual**

Yet another evening in Metroville. One that promised a break in the rains that had lasted on and off for the past few days. The low-hanging California sun cast its radiant beams through the broken overcast, splashing a brilliant orange glow over the high-rises. As it always was, the congested homeward bound traffic was filled with quite a mix of thoughts and tempers that afternoon. Long hours of work have a tendency to bring out both the worst and the best of people.

Situated near the middle of the highway jam stood an ordinary looking black sedan of common make and model. One would not give the car a second glance, except for the hulking man who sat behind the wheel. Though he fit comfortably in his seat, his body filled a great deal of the windshield, his shoulders broad and his arms a mass of muscle. He sat calmly, listening to lively jazz over the radio, only moderately perturbed by the traffic's slow progress. He was, after all, doing his job and no one could rightly complain about that.

The colossus mused idly about his family's plans when he got home a few hours from then. Game night had been postponed once before and everyone was looking forward to a few hardy rounds of cards. Which card games to play was still undecided. Spoons was definitely out of the question since no one could match his oldest boy's speed. He chuckled as he recalled the outrageous cheats everyone had pulled that one night they had tried the game, all ending in a sizable crack in the dining room table from an exuberant snatch at the last spoon. Despite each of their individual quirks, he was fiercely proud of his family and how they worked together. He let out a content sigh as he glanced out at the sun drenched city.

The music was interrupted all of a sudden and was replaced by a brief garble of voices as a light on the radio display flashed red. The oversized driver sat up and listened intently as the broadcast cleared and blared out "attention all units, we have a robbery in progress at the 43rd street Coffer's Bank involving the Black Skulls gang. RCS."

Response Code S. The call for a super.

Drivers across the highway were abruptly met by a loud and distinctive siren as the black vehicle transformed before their eyes. At the touch of a button, what was once an unremarkable sedan had switched into a sleek super car, upon which was now clearly emblazoned the mark of Metroville's prime protectors: The Incredibles. Like magic, a hole opened in the traffic to allow the vehicle access to the shoulder of the road and the Incredibile sped off toward the scene of the crime.

A grin stole across Mr. Incredible's face as he punched the booster, confident he'd be home in time for dinner.

"Show Time."

* * *

As far as Louie was concerned, whoever was fool enough to saunter through the dark back allies of Detroit, Michigan with valuables deserved what happened to them, whether by his hand or someone else's. Though he preferred it be by his. All the more loot for him to pawn for his livelihood. A man has to eat, after all.

He stood there behind his dumpster, calmly listening to the city ruckus that so perfectly masked a thief's approach: car horns, crowds of footfalls, even the sirens that so often unnerved those inexperienced at the trade. He had grown use to it, his eyes and ears tuned perfectly to sense the coming of either the authorities or the next "piggy bank." And it seemed that the latter of the two had just turned down his ally: a tall, attractive blond in long casual clothes with a naive look on her face. A little beneath his skill, but Louie was notorious for not being choosy about his targets.

The young lady passed his hiding spot and Louie lithely slipped in behind her, testing the grip around his club. A quick rap on the head would down the blond with little trouble, and then he could pick her over as he pleased. With practiced precision, Louie brought his club down on the base of her skull, ready to catch the girl when she fell so as to minimize the heap she would crumble into.

At least that's what he had expected to happen. To his surprise, the girl didn't collapse but stopped and stood so suddenly that Louie ran right into her when he bent to catch her.

"Excuse me, but did someone just tap me?" the girl asked without turning around.

Louie was caught off guard. What kind of question was that, coming from someone who should be out cold? "Yes?" was all he could manage to say.

The girl turned to face the flustered thief with a questioning look in her eye. Louie gasped in shock. There was now an electric blue mask over the woman's face which had not been there before. He immediately saw his mistake and bolted for the ally's exit. He didn't get far. He suddenly froze as if all his momentum had been completely absorbed all at once, then he fell forward, freezing again right before his face came to rest on the pavement.

"You didn't answer my question."

Louie looked up. The woman stood before him, her casual outer vestments cast aside to reveal her golden yellow leggings and electric blue body suit on which a flashy red K was now clearly displayed. She still carried that question in her gaze, but not a hint of malice.

"I… I beg your pardon miss Kinetisprite," Louie stammered as he attempted to rise. "I didn't know it was you."

"And what would you have done if it wasn't me?" she asked innocently.

Louie hesitated. He knew he couldn't get out of this one. Sweet talk wouldn't get him anywhere with Kinetisprite. Underneath that innocent look was a grim determination to stop any and all criminals she came in contact with. And stop them she could and would. Anyone fool enough to get within five feet of her was completely helpless to run. She would deaden your moves in an instant if you tried. Hitting her would only increase her strength; she'd absorb the energy in an instant and hit you back with twice the power. Best not to start something here. Louie loved his own hide too much to have it mashed to pulp.

"Well… why don't we just skip that part and you slap the 'cuffs on me now," Louie said nervously as he extended his wrists to the young super.

Quick as you can say "you're under arrest," the handcuffs were locked and Louie was on his feet being led away to jail.

"Good Answer," smiled Kinetisprite.

* * *

Night in New York, New York and the Fire Department had their hands full. A late party had let the wine flow a little too freely and one marinated genius had the bright idea to play with a lighter. By the time the firefighters were called, the blaze had spread to the neighboring apartment buildings and had consumed much of the structures' upper floors. An hour's work had yielded little progress in stopping the inferno which stood now on the edge of catastrophe.

The only thing left to do had been done, leaving very little else to do except to wait for results and contain the fire as best they could. Things looked to get ugly fast if their call went unanswered, the chances for which were slim to none. One could always count on the administrator of just-ice.

Right on cue, as the flames began licking the next structure, a bridge of ice stretched out high over the street as Frozone, the Big Apple's star super, rushed in. The firefighters all cheered as "the ice man," gliding effortlessly across the frozen streams, let loose a blizzard of frost across the blaze. The flames began ebbing before his chill wind.

"Come on guys," Frozone called as he flew around for another pass. "Let's do it to it!"

Every fire hose joined the barrage with renewed resolve and the wall of fire slowly began to crumble, leaving the charred remnants behind to smolder. It was clear now that the danger was officially past.

A broad smile lit Frozone's face as he continued his sweeps of the dying fire. There were few other things he would want to be doing right then and few other people he'd want to be working with. To him, this was more than a city of nameless people. In an abstract way, this was family to him. Of course his wife Honey was the greatest good he'd ever get anywhere (she always made sure he remembered that little fact), but there was something special about doing his line of work. A satisfaction nothing else could quite match.

"_Man, I love my job,"_ he thought to himself. _"I wonder if other supers are havin' as much fun as I am."

* * *

_

Two days later in Metroville, civilians and police stood in the streets, looking on in a mix of horror and wonder. Two beings were locked, head to head, in a battle of wit, will, and strength. The offender: a seemingly possessed beast calling itself The Hammer bent on flattening the town. The defender: An up and coming young spectacle making his third appearance to the streets of the city; a young super known as The Gamer.

Hammer, a powerful humanoid creature with thrice the muscle and half the brain of a typical man, brandished two enormous sledges in his powerful fists and charged forward in a desperate attempt to drive his opponent into the blacktop. His strokes went wide as Gamer jumped high into the air in a streak of blue and green. The tiring Hammer spun around to face his nimble foe, only to find The Gamer had disappeared. In his place stood a tall, elf-like figure dressed in a green tunic and long green hat. In his right hand he held a large, ornate, metal shield upon which the figure of a bird and three triangles were painted. But in his left he gripped a large and improbable broadsword which he weaved to and fro as if it were a saber.

Hammer, his great chest heaving from his efforts, stared for a moment or two trying to comprehend what had just happened. But he quickly shook free of his stupor to challenge this new figure which stood before him. Simultaneously Hammer and this new apparition charged forward, wildly swinging their weapons and giving a great shout. It seemed at first they would collide, but at the last moment the green warrior dove forward and rolled under his foe as fast as an acrobat. Before Hammer knew what had happened, the warrior had jumped up and slashed a great gash across his enemy's back. To any ordinary man, that blow would have been the last, but The Hammer's hide was thick and tough. Though the wound spurted dark blood and Hammer bellowed in pain, he stood firm and swung his mighty sledge around to brain his tormenter. The elf ducked low as the first hammer passed over him and rolled away as a second blow smashed into the asphalt where his head had been.

When he came back up there was in his hands, as if by apparition, a great longbow with an arrow nocked and drawn. And in the split second that the warrior took his aim, it seemed to some that the arrow was surrounded with a wintry glow. With a short _fwish_ the arrow flew and struck The Hammer's great shoulder. Then, with a thud, he toppled back to the street, frozen in a case of blue ice.

The stunned spectators, uniformed or not, stood goggling at what they had just witnessed. They gazed first at the felled Hammer, held immobile in his frozen prison, then back at the one who accomplished the task. Once again, The Gamer stood where the green clad swordsman had been. Then, cracking his knuckles, he addressed the authorities: "He's all yours gentlemen. He may be stone cold right now, but he'll been his raging old self when he's done thawing out. See to it that he's in a safe and contained place when he does; we wouldn't want him wreaking havoc again, now would we."

* * *

Later that afternoon, a young man lay resting on his recliner. It had been a long day and it was getting late. He sat there listening to the droning of the hardware and computer systems all around him, thankful that he was almost done with moving in. It had been nearly a week since he had started unpacking and setting up all his equipment, and now he could finally go to bed tonight, satisfied that everything was up and running.

He got up, walked over to a nearby table, and began sorting through the mail which had lain unopened since that afternoon. He looked through various advertisements, the likes of which would make garbage stuffing, and several letters postmarked for "Michael Mason" from several friends, family, and businesses. He put these aside and picked up the previous day's newspaper to see if there was anything interesting. The headline was "Incredible Heist Foil" with a surprisingly good image of Mr. Incredible plastering the Black Skulls. He quickly browsed though the story, reflecting on the events of the past few days, making mental notes on the glowing, though somewhat biased, commentary. Newspapers these days.

He finished the story and moved on to the weekly columns. It was a small bit near the top which caught his eye. A columnist had written this:

"In the few days that The Gamer has been among us, people have been wondering who this young spectacle is. Such is the question even among the supers of Metroville. Yesterday, when approached with the question of 'who is The Gamer,' Mr. Incredible said he had no idea. 'The National Supers Agency has only told us that he moved here not long ago and that he has license to work as a Super Hero.'"

"The other Incredibles were also puzzled by The Gamer's identity and exact abilities: 'He is a shape shifter, no mistake there,' Mrs. Incredible said, 'but what exactly he can do has got me stumped. Some people say he can phase shift, others say he can morph into other people, but whoever he is and whatever he can do, he is a welcome sight. We could always use another super in town.'"

"The Incredible children also show a great interest in the Gamer's true identity. 'I like his style' was The Falcon's response to what he thought of the new super. 'I'd sure like to meet him and ask him where he learned his trade. I think even I could learn a thing or two from him.'"

Michael set down the paper slowly as he got back to work wiring up his computer and hardware systems, pondering the article as he did so.

One of the greatest and most famous super hero teams had taken notice of his actions. He had heard a lot about them through reputation and had often wondered what it would be like to actually meet them one day. As he thought about it, it came to him that perhaps that was one reason he had moved there in the first place. That, and the fact that the NSA had suggested Metroville to him when considering a new place to work.

"_Well, I guess I'll just make a point of meeting them the next chance I get,"_ he thought to himself as he continued his work. _"After all, a super can get to know another super, can't he?"

* * *

_

Even without an alarm clock, Michael woke at exactly 7:00 a.m. the next morning and began going about getting set for the day. _"Uploading that clock program was a good idea"_ Michael thought as he pulled on his shirt. He dressed quickly and slipped into the kitchen to start on breakfast and check up on the news. He switched on the TV and set to work on some bacon and eggs.

As he ate, he considered how he would go about making his introduction to the Incredibles. After all, they were _the_ super family of Metroville and he wanted something that was at least semiformal as well as flashy. His mind started poring over the data: _"What shifts do they work? What shifts do I work? What patrol routes do they run…?"_ From this he started putting together possible scenarios and, just as fast, analyzing them and setting aside possible courses of action which he could take. He was thus engaged when the television's emergency broadcast system began to sound. Michael's head snapped up and he listened intently.

"We have just received word that a gang of five unknown teenage supers are running riot in the downtown area. Their affiliation is not known as they are not uniformed and have not responded to any known gang or crime names. All citizens are advised to…"

Michael didn't need to hear the rest. He rushed from the kitchen and flew down the steps to his lab. He may not have been 'on duty', but a super was always 'on call'. The computers were up and running by the time he got there, and he began to work feverishly to analyze the situation. Just then, the police scanner blared out "All units stand down. Situation deemed to hazardous. RCS, repeat: RCS. Incredibles are en route to scene. All units stand down."

Michael popped his knuckles as an impish smile crossed his face.

"_This is it"_ he thought excitedly. _"We'll get to see how the Incredibles respond to The Gamer."

* * *

_

**Note: There you have chapter 1. Thank you for your support everyone. Now, I'm looking for feedback (and more reviews). The first few parts of this chapter are ment to give the feel that supers are working all over the USA. Did you get that feel? If you didn't, please tell me what would give it that vibe. Being as they were ment as story points, Frozone and Kenetisprite will not be playing any major role in the story. But they will not be forgotten. They, and other supers, have a bit part here and there. ;)**


	3. First Impressions

**Chapter 2: First Impressions**

For Bob Parr, the famous Mr. Incredible, things weren't going according to plan at all. As far as he could tell, he and his family were at a complete stalemate. When they had first arrived at the scene, the five delinquent supers causing mayhem downtown seemed young and easy to deal with. How looks can be deceiving! It seemed that each of these super gang members had a power of equal strength against their opposers or an ability which completely nullified any advantage. At the moment, Mr. Incredible was tied up with a young super calling himself Titan. As the name implied, the youth was very strong and abnormally large for his age; two things Mr. Incredible was having difficulty overcoming. It had resorted to a street fight style war of endurance, each combatant hoping the other would fall first.

Incredible threw a powerful punch to the Titan's face, which stopped short as Titan blocked. Titan returned the favor with an upper-cut to the chest. Incredible dodged right and spun around, catching the stray fist in a deadly grip. With a great heave he flipped Titan head over heals to the pavement and followed through with a powerful finishing blow. His punch struck concrete as Titan rolled to his feet, fists at the ready. The two glared at each other, weaving threateningly around the street.

Titan moved first, lunging forward to grab his opponent. He hadn't gone two steps when something completely unexpected happened. The air was split by a harsh whistle which ended in a blunt _thunk_. Titan roared in pain and fell forward, completely missing his target as Incredible dodged in surprise.

"_What in the world just happened?"_ Incredible thought. Then the answer became quite apparent: As Titan struggled to regain his balance and footing, Incredible noticed an arrow shaft protruding from his foe's right shoulder. Titan whirled about, eyes ablaze, searching for the one who had shot him, just in time to catch a second arrow in the upper left leg. Titan bellowed with indignation and surprise as he fell heavily to the street, clutching his wound. Mr. Incredible spun around, gazing in the direction the arrow had come. Up on a nearby building there stood a figure wearing a green tunic and long pointed hat, bow in hand, looking down at his handiwork. As the super father stood staring, the bowmen leapt from the rooftop and rolled to his feet on the pavement. He looked up, his steady gaze meeting Mr. Incredible's astonished eyes.

"Well" the man said, "I do believe you can handle this fellow now. His wounds are not fatal, but he should be kept in a safe, comfortable place until the authorities arrive. In the meantime, it seems your family is in need of assistance; do I have your permission to proceed?"

Mr. Incredible didn't answer. His mind was elsewhere, studying the personage who stood before him. Now that he was closer, Mr. Incredible could plainly see that this was no ordinary man, if man he was. His face, his entire form in fact, was unnaturally angular, his ears were ludicrously long and pointed, and now Mr. Incredible could clearly make out the large sword and shield strapped across the figure's back. He had seen this swordsman somewhere, on the television maybe. It was on the tip of his tongue but the name escaped him.

"Mr. Incredible?"

The super father snapped from his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asked sheepishly.

"Your family needs help," was the blunt reply. "Do I have your permission to lend assistance?"

"Of…, well of course" Mr. Incredible said, mildly surprised by the inquiry.

"Thank you sir. I'll leave you to this gentleman then."

With that he turned and took off down the avenue to join the fight. Mr. Incredible stood for a moment, wondering if what he had just seen was real and why he thought this fighter so looked familiar.

"That was totally unfair," Titan groaned. Mr. Incredible turned to eye the whining teenager.

"I didn't even have a weapon and he comes in and shoots me. It wasn't even his fight!"

"_Yes"_ Mr. Incredible said to himself, _"I do have some unfinished business here."

* * *

_

Foresight had proved a more difficult opponent than The Falcon (a.k.a. Daschle Parr, the oldest of the "Incredibrothers") had expected. It seemed that no matter what he did Foresight was there, ready for his next move.

The rebel super was aptly named for his power enabled him to see up to 30 seconds into the future. It didn't seem like much of a power, but being able to predict a foe's next move proved to be a deadly advantage in a fight. But this advantage was offset by Falcon's extreme speed, something he was very grateful for now more than ever. The faster he moved, the harder it was for Foresight to keep up with him.

But keeping up with him was exactly what Foresight was doing. Falcon had fallen back to running circles around his foe, trying vainly to disorient him. He zipped to the right, faked left, ran a ring around a car, and came roaring up to his opponent. He swerved hard, his face just missing Foresight's fist and took off again. Well, that got him nowhere. So he tried again, this time showing off with some of his more flashy and erratic moves. Straining for every ounce of speed he could muster, The Falcon was a spectacle that would make anyone dizzy just by looking at him.

"_If this doesn't faze Foresight, I don't know what will."_

He spun a figure eight, zigzagged down the street and in every which direction, turned around, long jumped clear over to the opposite side of the block, then turned to swoop in on his prey. Again, Foresight was there, ready to strike. Falcon did not back off this time. It was clear now that as long as Foresight was focused on him, his high speed could not outmaneuver the other kid's clairvoyance. Nothing left to do but charge and hope the teen had slow reflexes.

Falcon ripped down the street, ready for the tackle as Foresight set his stance. But just before the two collided, a blur of blue swept Foresight's feet out from under him, leaving the villain completely open for the "red rocket" to seize him out of the air. He did so, thanking his good luck as he skillfully slid to a halt, Foresight tight in his grip, and clocked his quarry with a calculated chain of blows to the face and chin, effectively cutting the string of curses that tumbled from the juvenile's lips. As he set his limp opponent down to the sidewalk, Falcon looked around to see exactly who or what had given him the victory. His mind reeled as his eyes fell upon it.

Idly leaning up against a nearby lamppost was a fantastic character. He looked to be a weird mesh of a hedgehog and a human. He was short and slim with a body, arms, and legs which were disproportional to his full sized head, hands, and feet. His arms, chest, and lower face were tan but his remaining figure was a deep shade of blue with large quills of the same shade protruding from his head and back, all offset by his white gloves and red, white striped sneakers. Dash had been to the arcade enough to recognize this as only one person: the video game speed demon, Sonic the Hedgehog.

But…how was that possible?

Dash didn't have time to consider because Sonic, whether he was real or not, came walking up to him and in a very casual way said "Well, two down, three to go."

Dash said nothing. All he could do was gawk at the sight of a video game character standing in front of him, talking.

Sonic gave him a reproving gaze.

"Come on, sport," he said, "we've still got a job to do. Now quit standing there and let's go and see if we can help out your little brother."

Falcon shook himself.

"Uh…yah…yah, I guess we should."

"Well, let's do it to it!" The blue speedster was about to take off when Falcon snatched his arm, nearly bringing them both tumbling to the street.

"Hold on!" Falcon exclaimed as he regained his balance. "How did you do that?" he asked, pointing at the unconscious Foresight with a sweeping gesture.

"Simple," Sonic said, "I just exploited the fact that he was too occupied with you to notice me roaring in on him. It _is_ pretty hard to foresee a 200 mile-an-hour spin dash when you've got your mind on something else, wouldn't ya say?"

Falcon nodded, a bit embarrassed at his own question.

"And now that we've wasted a precious ten seconds, let's hot foot it over there and do something about your brother's little problem," Sonic said with a look that spoke volumes.

The two took off at blinding speed to aid Gambit, the youngest of the Incredibles.

As they did so, Falcon stole a look at his new companion. There was only one word that could describe what he was thinking at that moment:

"_Cool!"

* * *

_

Although he knew it would be childish, Jack-Jack Parr was just about ready to throw a complete fit. No matter how hard Gambit (his junior hero alias) fought, Metallic just kept coming. His foe's metal body hardly even dented as the desperate youth continued to attack with every form of himself he could think of: Fire, ice, plant, steel… nothing seemed to work. At 7 years old, Gambit just wasn't strong enough for this enemy.

"Kicking and screaming isn't gona' help ya none" Metallic sneered as he slapped away Gambit's now rock encased fist.

That did it! With a howl of frustration, Jack-Jack's anger took over and transformed the youngest Incredible into his well known form: The Red Devil. Mind on fire, the personification of fury charged forward and began to claw, punch, and kick his enemy with a ferocity born of desperation and animal rage. At this even Metallic cringed away, trying to shield himself from the little demon's onslaught.

Eventually, Jack-Jack regained his cool and he resumed his natural form. He was very disappointed at what he saw. Metallic's body was only slightly scratched and bent and Metallic himself was still standing firm. A wicked smirk crossed the gangster's gleaming lip as he let fly a powerful, steel clad punch. Gambit was caught off guard and took the blow full in the chest. With a groan he doubled over and toppled to the pavement.

Metallic was about to strike again when a streak of red flew by, catching him in the arm and spinning the metal assailant off balance. Gambit looked up. Crouched beside a parked green convertible was the welcome sight of his older brother, The Falcon. The felled Gambit rolled over in an attempt to rise when an unfamiliar voice rang out.

"Hey! Why don't you a-pick on-a someone your own-a size, eh?"

All three supers looked toward the voice's owner. There, on the other side of the street, stood a short, stocky man with a large, round nose and thick, bushy mustache. He was wearing overalls, a set of hefty work boots, and there sat on his head a large cap on which the letter "M" was stitched. But his features were not the most amazing thing; it was what he was made of. This strange figure, just like Metallic, was made completely out of metal!

Gambit, still trying to get his breath, stared at this gleaming apparition. "_Who is this guy?"_ he wondered. It was obvious to him _what_ the guy was; he just couldn't put a name to this particular super. _Did_ they work with another phase-shifter? Was this guy even registered?

At that moment, Gambit was scooped up by a strong set of arms. He looked up to see his older brother carrying him safely away from his foe.

"Are you O.K. little buddy?" Falcon asked, stopping at a nearby street corner.

"Yeah, he just knocked the wind out of me, that's all," Gambit wheezed.

"'That's all' he says," Falcon grinned. "Can you stand?"

"I think so." He wobbled a bit as Falcon put him down, but he stayed on his feet.

"Who the heck are you?" Metallic shouted at the newcomer.

"_That's what I was thinking,"_ Gambit thought with a frown.

"You-a sure you wanna find out?" the presumably Italian metal man called back.

Metallic sneered. "Cut the attitude and show me, freak."

With that, Metallic charged his new rival. The action that followed was enough to strike fear and awe into the heart of any super villain. With a speed unheard of for such a being, the steel challenger began to smack Metallic around as if he were a pin-ball. He jumped, ducked, and rolled around Metallic's attacks with mind boggling ease and countered each with a devastating move of his own, some of them bordering on the impossible. Metallic attempted a punch to the chin, only to be met with a double punch and kick combo to the chest. He swung again, catching a crushing blow right in face. He lunged out to grab his foe and was swept into a tornado of fists and smashed skyward in a powerful double uppercut. Almost as soon as he was airborne, the capped iron man jumped up into the air and smacked Metallic to the pavement with a powerful overhead hook-shot punch.

"Wow!" Gambit and Falcon breathed in unison, hardly believing what they were witnessing. It took nearly half a minute for Gambit to figure out what was truly amazing about the way the new super was fighting. Though Metallic was huffing and puffing from his efforts, his opponent was showing no signs of getting tired. He couldn't understand it. He had used a metal form several times himself and he knew that by now the guy should be moving like a slug from being so heavy and working that hard. But he was jumping from side to side like a circus performer, as if he weighed nothing. It seemed that the metal figure had no limit to his stamina.

Beaten nearly beyond endurance, Metallic lashed out with a powerful yet badly timed and badly aimed kick. This proved to be his last mistake. The steel-clad champion blocked the kick and grabbed the tired foot in his fists. Then, throwing in all his weight, he swept Metallic off his other foot and began to spin him around and around like an Olympic hammer thrower. Faster and faster he spun, until it seemed that Metallic was a silver ring orbiting Saturn. But the metal capped super did not let go. After several seconds the spin slowed, eventually allowing Metallic to grind to a halt on the pavement. The villain did not get up, but instead reverted to his natural state, indicating to the three heroes that this fight was over.

Gambit walked over to the fallen super and looked down at his face. He was still conscious, but his eyes were glazed and unfocused. The super boy looked up at the man who had helped them, a question on his young face.

"May I?"

"Be-a my guest," the metal figure said.

Gambit turned and gave Metallic a sharp rap on the head and the delinquent's eyes rolled back in his head as his body went limp. _"Out like a busted lamp,"_ Gambit thought with a satisfied nod.

"Well, that takes-a care of-a him" the iron hero said. "Now, let's-a go and-a help your mother, eh?"

The two Incredibrothers nodded and fell in behind their new associate as he ran down the street to aid Mrs. Incredible. For a brief moment the two remained silent, questions bubbling up in their minds. Finally, Gambit looked up into his brother's face.

"Who is this guy?" he asked. "Do you know?"

Falcon glanced over and shrugged. "Search me, but he _is_ pretty cool. Let's see what he does next O.K."

* * *

Helen Parr had decided that there was no bad guy in all her career as Elastigirl, past or present, who had been more of a pain in the neck than Translo was being at that particular moment. The teleporter was fast, she had to admit that, and had he been any kind of experienced super villain, he would be walking all over her right about now. But he was a far cry from being any kind of professional super _or_ villain. Put simply, the kid was a coward through and through. He had been in many positions to easily take her down, yet had vanished at the first implication of defensive action on her part.

So it had carried on for nearly ten excruciating minutes: Elastigirl would launch a stretch kick or punch at the boy who would instantly disappear and reappear in some unexpected location. Translo would then attempt some sneak attack on Mrs. Incredibles's blind side, but vanish as soon as he saw her so much as twitch. He had landed a few blows, but not even they were worthy of a criminal hoping to best a super. Whoever had raised this kid had surely done a lousy job of it.

By now Elastigirl was getting very tired of the whole business and about to give in to exasperation and frustration when she heard a short _fwish_ followed by an ear-splitting shriek of pain. Instinctively she spun around, twirling her elastic arms like whips in a deadly spin attack. For the first time, her fists connected with something solid and the shriek was abruptly cut off. A second _fwish_ sliced through the air, followed again by an even more piercing screech. But this cry was suddenly strangled as if it were being swallowed by death it self.

In her blind rush to react, Mrs. Incredible had failed to even look at what she was doing. But now that the moment was past, she could plainly see what had happened. Translo had teleported right behind her and was about to spring a little surprise when he was shot by, of all things, an arrow! Two shafts protruded from Translo's left arm and shoulder and they were both precisely aimed so as to not inflict fatal injury. But the arrows were not the thing which truly amazed her. It was the fact that Translo was completely encased in a thick layer of ice.

Instantly, she thought of Frozone. As far as she could tell, he was the only ice-generator registered with the NSA. But she dismissed that idea. She knew to well that Luscious and Honey had been reassigned to New York City to fill the super power gap left by Syndrome's near genocide. And besides that, she could now clearly see that this ice wasn't Frozone's. His ice always bore the sign of being condensed from the air and one could easily tell from which direction it had come. But this ice was far too crystalline in structure and was almost perfectly symmetrical in every shape it bent. It was completely unnatural! And to top it off, what person today would shoot a guy with a bow and arrow?

Mrs. Incredible spun around, hands at the ready, as someone leapt out from behind an overturned vehicle and ran up to the frozen delinquent's side. Elastigirl lowered her fists. It was a man dressed all in green and a powerful longbow was in his hand. Unbeknownst to her, this was the same sword-bearer which had saved her husband. The super mom watched in amazement as the archer surveyed his former target. Satisfied that Translo was still alive, the figure turned and addressed her.

"It looks as though he is out pretty cold, Mrs. Incredible," he said with a chuckle. "From your jaw strike to my ice arrow, I wouldn't be surprised if it takes him two months to recover." He got up. "Now, if you will excuse me, I've one last piece of unfinished business." He turned to go.

"Wait!" Mrs. Incredible called after him. "Who are you?"

"The formalities are not important right now" he called over his shoulder. "Of far greater importance is your daughter's safety. But ask me later, if you wish."

She couldn't argue with that. All she could do was stand there, her mind a jumble of questions, and look over at her two boys who had emerged from behind the car the archer had been hiding behind. As their eyes met, she threw a questioning glance at them. Falcon shrugged with a look on his face which clearly said "Don't ask me" then motioned for her and Gambit to follow him and watch this stunning super's next move.

* * *

It was official: Invisagirl would rather face her upcoming Hero Academy exams as plain old Violet Parr ten times over than fight a telepath ever again. After all other things had failed in containing the psychic, she had resorted to complete self defense. As it stood she and Psyches, the alleged leader of the supers gang, were engaged in a war of wills, each struggling to gain or maintain control of Invisagirl's force field which she had projected around herself.

"Come on Invisagirl, you _know_…you're going to lose," Psyches puffed as he bent his will to rattle the girl's concentration. The translucent sphere wavered, but Invisagirl held firm.

"Over my dead body, Psyches," was her defiant response. Almost immediately, she wished she hadn't spoken. Surely she could have come up with a better comeback line than that! Besides, Psyches gloating over her lifeless form wasn't exactly what she wanted either of them to think about at that particular moment.

"That can easily be…arranged!" Psyches grated.

A sudden and violent pressure swept Invisagirl's being as the force field began to warp and compress. She instantly knew what Psyches was trying to do. Having failed to reave control of the force field from her, Psyches was now trying to destroy it all together! The pain was excruciating, but Invisagirl fought with all her strength to oppose the psychic forces her foe was exerting on her energy barrier. Faces contorted with effort, the two supers struggled to overcome the mind of the other, Psyches focusing all his mental power on crushing the force field and Invisagirl tapping all her power to sustain it. She squeezed her eyes closed and bit her lip, her energy nearly spent.

"Hey you!"

Invisagirl's force field flew apart as Psyches's mental vice-grip suddenly shattered. She quickly veiled her fists in small energy spheres, ready to defend, but was surprised to see her enemy was staring off down the street. She glanced over and found herself gazing on what appeared to be a young boy. He was short with round legs and arms, of stocky build with little muscle, yet had a head that was unnaturally large for anyone that age or size. He wore a red baseball cap, a blue and yellow striped shirt, short blue jeans, and a backpack slung across his back.

"That's no way to treat a lady" he called out in a thick oriental accent.

"Who in the world are you?" Psyches said, eyeing this child with obvious puzzlement.

The boy exhaled explosively and shook his head. "Why do they always ask me that when it's so much easier to just show them?" he replied.

He struck so fast that Invisagirl nearly dropped her guard in surprise. The boy's hand shot out, palm open, aimed directly at Psyches, who was suddenly lifted off his feet and sent careening through the air. Violet looked on in amazement as he landed with a thud against a nearby building, and then at the boy as he lowered his arm, a faint look of concentration on his face. He was a psychic too! How else could he have done such a thing?

"So, that's the way you wanna play it, do ya?" Psyches roared as he picked himself up. The new boy planted his feet and threw a withering glance at his foe. The two psychics stood rooted to their spots, eyeing each other with glares of deep loathing. Invisagirl suddenly noticed that she was almost right on the line of fire and cautiously took cover behind a parked car to watch the fight unfold, ready to help if she had to. The scene suddenly reminded Violet of those Old Western movies and the classic sheriff-bandit showdowns. Ironic, she thought, that when it all boiled down, the Old School always shown true.

Psyches moved first. With a grunt, his hands lashed out as he sent a beam of psychic energy hurtling towards his rival. But he wasn't fast enough. Just as Psyches fired, the young boy whipped up both arms and struck a wide defensive stance. The air around him was suddenly filled with a blue, spherical disturbance which pulsated about the boy like a magnetic field.

The energy ray struck. Invisagirl flinched back, instinctively covering her eyes to shield them from the blast. But instead of an explosion, a cry of surprise and pain filled the air. She looked up. Psyches's ray was being absorbed by the energy field surrounding the boy and Psyches was bent forward, visibly trembling and a look of mental anguish on his face. _"Impossible!"_ Invisagirl thought in disbelief. The boy was drawing Psyches's power strait out of him through his own attack!

"You had enough?" the child called, a smirk of triumph lighting his face. Psyches looked up but didn't back down. He impudently spat at his foe.

"No? Well how about _now_!"

The blue field flared anew and Psyches screamed in agony, clutching his head.

"Ahhhhhhhhh! Yes, yes, anything, just stop, you're killing me!" he pleaded.

The boy's psychic magnet disappeared as he lowered his hands. Psyches, completely drained of any strength, sank to his knees and fell to the ground, his breaths coming in gasps. The victorious youth walked up to his fallen foe, a cool and satisfied expression on his face. He leaned down and looked the incapacitated Psyches straight in the eye.

"Next time, surrender," he said.

* * *

Everyone was silent as the Incredibles helped the strange young boy gather up the five teens and secure them for the authorities. Not a word was spoken for the entire time they worked, but rapid conversation was engaged between the super family members in the language of gesture. Questioning gazes, shrugs, smirks, grins; all spoke volumes of their fascination and curiosity over this new super.

Finally, all the gang members were together, slumped unconscious and oblivious to the world around them as the police prepared them for transport. The psychic boy stood back, gave a satisfied nod, and then turned to the Incredibles.

"Well, that takes care of that" he said matter-of-factly. "I think we did a fair job in cleaning up after these slobs and I thank you for your company. Now, if you will excuse me."

He turned to go.

"Wait a minute!" Mrs. Incredible exclaimed. The psychic spun around and met her perturbed look. "I think we're entitled to that little introduction I asked you for, mister."

The boy slapped his head. "Of course!" he spluttered. "How silly of me. I did skip over the formalities, didn't I? My apologies. Well, it so happens that I go by many names," he said, drawing himself up. "As you see me now I am Ness, the boy genius."

Then before their startled eyes, The Incredibles saw the boy change form. His body suddenly became blocky and pixilated, as if he had been run through a computer. Then his form quickly and smoothly reshaped its self and coalesced into a completely new personage.

"Like-a this, I'm-a Super Mario!" said the new capped and mustached figure.

Again he changed forms.

"Sonic the Hedgehog…"

And again.

"Link, the Hero of Hyrule, and a host of other characters" the swordsman finished with a flourish. "But the one behind them all is none other than, yours truly…"

The elf-like warrior dissolved and was replaced by a tall, muscular human figure in a green super suit. He wore black gloves, boots, and a belt which sat beneath a blue vest upon which a silver TG emblem was printed. His head was covered by a simple yet stout green helmet and his eyes were masked by a silver visor. Each of the Incredibles gaped in amazement. They read the paper and they watched the news, and there was no mistaking that this was none other than…

"…The Gamer."

Falcon was the one who spoke first after a very stunned silence.

"Wow! This is so cool! It's great to finally get to meet you," he blurted as he zipped up and vigorously shook Gamer's hand, his words tumbling over each other.

"Yes, it _is_ a pleasure!" Mr. Incredible said as he extended his arm, visibly enthused.

"No, no, the pleasure's all mine," Gamer said as he took Mr. Incredible's hand. "I've been looking forward to meeting you all for quite some time. I've heard a great deal about you and your family, even where I used to work. It appears you've heard about me too, eh?"

"Well, yeah," Invisagirl said. "You're the new talk of the town. It's hard not to have noticed."

"Well, thank you Invisagirl. Now, I'd like to stay and chat but we're starting to draw a crowd and I've got some pressing business to attend to soon. So, if you'll excuse me."

Before the Incredibles could object, The Gamer turned and ran off down the street toward the nearest building. With a great leap, he jumped into the air and bounded off the store wall, sending him sailing over the street and onto the adjacent rooftop. Then, with a scout-style salute, he turned and vanished beyond the brink.

The super family stood gazing in awe at the place where the Gamer had just disappeared. For the longest time, no one spoke. Finally, Gambit spoke and voiced the thoughts of the entire family:

"If that wasn't incredible, I don't know what is!"


	4. Returning Favors

**Chapter 3: Returning Favors**

In the five-odd years that the family had worked as The Incredibles, neither Bob nor Helen could remember a time when the ride home had been more animated than tonight. The back seats of the Incredivan, the family optimized version of the Incredibile, were alive with excited voices and conversation over the events of the evening. The kids, now changed into their civilian clothes, were all talking at once.

"Man, did you see that guy! How he swept Foresight right off his feet and then completely schooled that metal guy? That was so _cool_!" Dash exclaimed in his rambunctious way.

"Well, did you see what he did to Psyches?" Violet asked. "_That_ was amazing." She laid her head against the seat and heaved a deep sigh. Then she threw a warning glance over at Dash and his smug snickers.

"You got that right" Jack-Jack piped in. "I mean, he was running and jumping everywhere, and he wasn't even getting tired!" He shook his head as he reflected on the fight between the two metal supers. "I just wish I had that kind of strength. It was like he could just keep going like that forever."

Bob chuckled as a grin tugged at his lip. He couldn't help but agree with his kids and share in their fascination over the new super. Sure, in the Glory Days there had been changelings, but none of them had shown as much power and ability as The Gamer had. Whoever he was, he definitely wasn't one to mess with.

"What are you smiling about, Bob?" Helen asked from the passenger-side seat, a knowing half smile on her face. Bob started from his thoughts and glanced briefly at his wife.

"Oh, I was just thinking about the new kid's abilities. He sure has a lot of potential."

"No arguments there," Helen said glancing up at the roof, thinking back on the battles she had witnessed.

"Did you know anyone with that kind of power before, honey?" Bob asked after a short silence.

"Oh, I've know my share of shape-shifters, but I've never even heard of one quite like him before."

"Neither have I. I suppose that could be why the NSA was so protective about his identity."

Bob heaved a sigh.

"I wish we knew more about him," he mused as he pulled the car into the family's driveway.

Helen's eyes suddenly came alight.

"Well, why don't we ask him?" she said.

"Hm?" Bob glanced at Helen.

"Sure. Why don't we ask him? The NSA might not tell us much, but maybe _he_ could tell us a little about himself!" she said slyly.

Bob considered this. It was true that the National Supers Association wouldn't tell more about a given super than they thought necessary, and nothing at all if they were specifically asked not to. However, there was nothing against the super revealing himself to an associate super, so long as his identity wasn't classified to secrecy.

"Yeah, I guess we could ask him a few questions," Bob said at last, a mirror of his wife's excitement beginning to show in his face.

"OK," Helen said. "Next time we meet him, we'll see if he's willing to chat."

* * *

Their chance came late the next week. It was the typical early-summer Saturday morning in the Parr home that day. Helen was in the kitchen working on the breakfast dishes with Jack-Jack helping to dry and put away. Bob was sitting in his favorite chair reading the morning paper, Violet was in her room studying up for her finals, and Dash was in the TV room tinkering with the brand new video-game consul the family had chipped in to purchase. It was a significant investment, but many would agree that home video game systems were proving to be the next generation of home entertainment.

The phone rang.

"I've got it," Helen called as she set down the dish rag and dried off her hands to answer it.

"Hello? Yes she's here, one second please."

Helen stretched out into the family room and reached up the stairs to Violet's room and knocked on the door.

"Honey, it's Hannah on the 'phone for you," she called.

"O.K., thanks mom," Violet called back as she picked up her bedroom phone.

"Who's Hannah, mom?" Dash asked, looking up from the system connector cables as Helen's hand shot back down to her.

"Oh, one of Vi's study partners at the hero training academy. You know, that Pyra girl. She probably has some questions about their exams."

Dash grimaced briefly as he thought about his own coming academy entry tests, and then turned back to wiring up the console.

Suddenly, the calm was split by a louder and more urgent ring-tone. Every head snapped up and everybody was instantly on his or her feet, for they all knew the familiar sound of the 'phone's special emergency ring. After the supers had been recommissioned, each had been supplied with a special two-line phone. The first line was connected with the civilian phone system. But the other was linked to the special Supers Emergency Contact Network (S.E.C. Net, as it had become known). This way the local government could contact the supers in an inconspicuous and convenient way without fear of exposure. Helen snatched up the receiver with one elastic arm and scooted Jack-Jack off to the garage with the other to join the rest of the family.

"Mrs. Incredible here; go ahead," she said in her superwoman, no-nonsense voice.

"Incredibles, we have a situation at City Hall…"

* * *

The scene at Metroville City Hall was a chaotic one, but supers could often expect that; the police rarely called until things had spun beyond their ability to handle. Citizens stood in the streets, gawking and yelling at the police and each other, trying to find out more. Reporters were running here and there in an attempt to get the exclusive for their bosses. Gunfire could be faintly heard from within the building. The Law had its hands full keeping the situation under control. It was to this sight that the Incredivan came screaming to a halt.

"Incredibles!" exclaimed the police captain as the five supers jumped out of their vehicle.

"Officers," Mr. Incredible acknowledged. "What's the situation?"

"Well, the Black Skulls gang is up to their whole 'take over the town' bit again and has taken the Mayor hostage. Currently, we're just trying to keep the crowds away from the premises. We have the building in lockdown right now and all our boys are either at the tape line or watching the exits. The Gamer's inside trying to…"

"Wait, wait, wait. Gamer's here right now?" Mrs. Incredible asked in surprise.

"Yeah, he got here just a few minutes before you guys did. He's inside trying to contain the situation."

A grin spread across Mr. Incredible's face as he looked over at his wife and kids. They all looked back at him, each bearing the same impish expression. He turned back to the captain.

"Well, do you think we could lend him a hand, officer?"

The captain stood for a moment, confused at the question. _"He's got to be kidding,"_ he thought to himself. Even if he said no, he couldn't stop them from taking action. This was their jurisdiction after all, why ask _him_ permission?

"Of course, Incredibles, go right ahead."

* * *

The cavernous entrance corridor of the Metroville City Hall echoed with faint footfalls as the Incredibles made their way to the large double doors of the main hall, which stood slightly ajar. The piercing sound of gunfire was plainly audible behind the doors. Mr. Incredible held up his hand as they approached and cautiously peered through the gap. He could see one or two of The Black Skulls across the room, crouched behind desks or pillars, but the stairs that rose up either side of the entryway obscured the remaining view.

"What does it look like honey?" Mrs. Incredibles asked in a hushed voice.

"From what I can see, it looks like Gamer's got a full dance card," Mr. Incredible whispered back. "I can see two… no, three Skulls but I can't see him or the Mayor."

He turned to Invisagirl.

"OK, I need you to go in and scout out the situation. Are you alright with that?" he asked.

"No problem Dad," the eldest Incredible said with a confidant nod. Her father stepped aside and she moved slowly toward the door.

"Be careful sweetie," Mrs. Incredible said, a look of maternal concern on her face.

"Don't worry Mom, it's not like I haven't done this kind of thing before." With a flourish, she vanished and slipped inside.

* * *

Invisagirl made her way cautiously around the room, careful to take in all the details as well as not give herself away. One click of her high heeled boots and she could have a barrage of bullets flying at her. Why _did_ Edna have to include those each time she made a woman's super suit? They didn't really serve the purpose of stealth very well.

The main hall was an oval shaped and domed rotunda with four sets of double doors leading in each of the four compass directions. Two stairways flanked the southern exit, granting access to a high balcony supported by ornate marble columns. All along the balcony there were doors and entrances to various offices and store-rooms. The eastern and western exits on the ground floor led to the legislative and judicial wings of the building, places Violet had yet to visit. But the northern exit led strait to the mayor's office, a fact made obvious by the large banner in gold letters which arched over the door frame. It was this door which drew the most of Invisagirl's attention.

Four of the Black Skulls stood guarding it, all of them taking refuge behind anything that would serve as cover. Two others stood near the western exit and another above them on the balcony. All of them were busy reloading their weapons or looking around the room with disgust and annoyance plain on their faces. Whatever was going on, they were getting tired of it.

"_OK, that's seven,"_ Invisagirl noted to herself. _"But there should be ten of them. They always have ten members."_ Where were the other three? Invisagirl didn't have time to consider the possibilities because her attention was drawn by the sudden appearance of an eighth person on the eastern end of the balcony.

"There he is boys!" cried the balcony Skull. "Shoot 'em!"

Gunfire rang out as the Sculls unloaded on the apparition, who nimbly dodged the volleys and leaped from the railing in one swift motion. It appeared to be an android of some sort which was painted in an array of reds, oranges, and yellows. Its shoulders were heavily armored and a powerful energy cannon was mounted on its right arm in place of a hand. However, it seemed to Invisagirl that the figure was slightly angular and moved too quickly for all the weight it should be carrying.

"_That must be Gamer!_" she observed.

And sure enough, she was right. The figure hit the floor at a run, firing streams of energy bursts at the Skulls as he did. Their return fire licked at the figure's metal heels, but he managed to charge back up onto the balcony and duck into the nearest office without getting as much as a scratch. The gunfire ceased and a harsh voice echoed through the hall:

"Come on Gamer Boy! Come out and fight like a man!"

* * *

Hidden behind the southern doors, the four remaining Incredibles were starting to get anxious. Helen's mind flinched at each explosive gunshot and she wished Violet would hurry up. It typically wasn't like her to worry about her children. But whenever one of the kids entered a hazardous situation on their own, Helen couldn't help but feel that sick feeling of unsurety start to form in her chest. She was about give into her maternal instinct and go in to help their daughter when Violet suddenly reappeared in front of them. Helen visibly jumped in surprise but skillfully contained the shout which had nearly escaped her lips.

"Oh, Honey," she breathed, "next time say something before you just show yourself like that."

"Sorry Mom," Violet said apologetically, but with a small hint of mirth in her voice.

"So, what's going on in there?" Mr. Incredible asked urgently. Invisagirl turned to her father.

"Well, it looks as if Gamer's really got himself into a fix. He's taken shelter in one of the balcony rooms with seven of the Skulls bearing down on him."

"Only seven?" Incredible said, slightly surprised.

"Yes. I didn't see the other three in there at all."

"Did you see the Mayor?" Mrs. Incredible asked.

"No, I didn't see him either."

Both husband and wife looked at each other, brows furrowed, both deliberating the possibilities.

"What are the seven's positions?" Mr. Incredible finally asked.

"One of them is up on the western side of the balcony," Invisagirl said, her hands making out the approximate dimensions of the scene. "Two others are below him by the judicial wing corridor, and the other four are apparently standing guard by the Mayor's office."

"Hmm," Mr. Incredible said, his mind sorting through his daughter's descriptions. "It sounds like the three remaining Skulls are holding the Mayor in his office."

"Yes," his wife intoned. "It makes sense: Keep your leverage from a precarious situation. Any intelligent criminal with would know that, not that they were intelligent in the first place." That drew a few snickers from the family, even if it was a tired, old supers joke.

"But in order to help the Mayor, we're going to have to free Gamer first," Incredible said as he reassumed his serious manner. "Any ideas?"

The family stood for a moment, trying to figure out how they could help Gamer escape. Suddenly, Dash's eyes lit up and a wild grin stole across his face as what he would dub "a stroke of genius" hit him.

"Hey Vi," he said as he threw a sidelong glace at his sister. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Almost immediately Invisagirl caught her brother's drift, and an equally mischievous smile caught at her lip. With a wink and a nod, she turned to their parents.

"Mom, Dad. We've got a plan."

* * *

The Gamer, now in his definitive form, stood against the wall of what had just become his office prison, cursing himself for being so careless. "_I should have had the sense to test that form out before I actually used her,"_ he thought to himself. But he hadn't, and now here he was: trapped like a rat with seven rifles and machine guns ready to dismember him if he so much as peeked out the door. Of course Samus Aran was a powerful form quite capable of dealing with just such a situation. There was just one small problem: Michael Mason was a man, Samus Aran was a woman. It was the first time he had assumed a female character and his masculine instincts had instantly cringed at the unnatural situation of a man in a woman's body, even if it was a digital representation of one. That fact alone was enough of a distraction for him to bungle the job from the moment he assumed the character.

A loud, yet melodious voice drifted up from the chamber beyond as Gamer started from his thoughts.

"Come on Gamer! It's over. Come on out and we might go easy on you!"

It was a voice which one would think atypical of a villain, a voice that an opera singer would envy. But then, it was a plain fact that villainy wasn't restricted to just the gruff and scabby street mugger. No, quite often it showed itself in some of the highest places and most gifted people. It was a sad thing, Gamer thought, when a man with such potential for good turned on the people, especially a man with a voice like that. But that thought was interrupted by the stereotypically gruff and harsh "villain voice:"

"Ah, cut it out Jessup. You know supers: they never give up. Besides, he's not just going to waltz out here, hands over his head and say 'shoot me.' Nobody's that stupid."

"Well, at least he can't say we didn't warn him."

Snorts of disgust were faintly heard in the main hall at this comment. Gamer couldn't see it but he could clearly tell that Jessup was a little shy on brains. After a moment, the gruff voice called up to the cornered Gamer.

"OK Gamer, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either you come out now and make your 'valiant stand,'" the Black Skull said with heavy sarcasm, "Or, if you insist, we can come in their after ya. Either way you lose. What's it gonna be?"

Gamer didn't even have to consider his answer; regardless of his tight predicament, he was not about to surrender. He took a deep breath as he prepared to stuff his enemy's proposition back behind his molars. But before the sound of his voice even reached the door, the main hall erupted with screams and shouts of surprise, punctuated with round after round of gunfire.

Gamer braced himself against the far wall, waiting for the bullet holes to start appearing in the doorway. But they didn't come. It occurred to him that maybe he was no longer the target. Gamer's systematic mind slipped into overdrive, trying to sort out this strange event. "_What could they possibly be shooting at? What could cause them to react so violently? What could draw away their attention so fast and so frantically?"_ All the questions that came to him pointed at only two possibilities: either the military had gotten involved (an unlikely prospect), or another super must have appeared at the scene. There was one way to know for sure. He shifted into his Stealth Gamer form, carefully opened the door with a camouflaged hand, and looked out over the balcony.

What he saw made him want to whoop for joy. The Black Skulls were all rapidly expending their ammunition on a transparent sphere which Gamer knew no bullet could penetrate. Within the rolling shield were two individuals he recognized instantly: Floating in the center of the field was Invisagirl Incredible with her brother, The Falcon, propelling the ball at full speed straight through the ranks of the enemy. It was their signature combined technique which had been aptly dubbed The Incrediball. Gamer couldn't ask for a more suiting "thank-you." The Incredibles had come to _his_ rescue.

* * *

Beyond the Domed Hall, within the Executive Office, the three remaining Black Skulls stood uneasily, listening to the ruckus which filtered through the doors of the waiting rooms. Between them, gagged and bound to a chair, was the Mayor of Metroville. He sat calmly without making a sound, and though he had three overpowered shotguns pointed at him he maintained a dignified air which all who knew him had come to respect. He may have been their prisoner, but he was not going to let a few degenerate and petty thugs cow him.

For several minutes, the noises of the distant battle were the only thing that could be heard while the scene in the Mayor's office remained unchanged. Then, abruptly, the gunfire and rough-and-tumble ceased. The three black clad men all stood, exchanging conflicting looks that spoke of unease and a wild hope of victory. The Mayor, looking up at the faces of his captors, stirred in hope and anxiety. The silence brooded and deepened, until one of the Skulls pushed his face into the Mayor's.

"It looks like your little Gamey friend finally bought the farm," he said. The man's foul breath burned in the Mayor's nostrils, a rancid mixture of tobacco and halitosis. The Skull grinned hideously as the Mayor turned away with a cough.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud knock on the door. All three Skulls started in surprise and leveled their weapons at the door, ready to fire if their enemy happened to be behind it. "Who's there?" one of the thugs called out. All at once the doors flew open as a blur of red and a streak of blue zipped through and deftly disarmed the gangsters. The flustered former captors stared in dismay at a remarkable sight; a sight that sent a thrill through the Mayor's blood. There, shifting out of Sonic form with two rifles on his shoulder, stood the Gamer with the five Incredibles flanking him on either side. The Falcon held the third weapon and hanging limply from Mr. Incredible's fist was the semi-conscious form of the Black Skulls' leader.

"Sorry boys," Gamer said as the supers slowly entered the room, "Party's over."

* * *

Meanwhile, out on the streets surrounding City Hall, news video crews for the local TV stations had just arrived. Cameramen were running up and down the scene in an attempt to get the best footage, perhaps even an exclusive, for the six o'clock news. Some had even set up for live reports and were now working hard to begin their broadcasts. Channel 5 had already begun. They had arrived early and had obtained tape line seats. The reporter, Jacob Rednals, was at the mike:

"…As you can see, the police have the entire perimeter of City Hall blocked off and have stationed officers to monitor any entrances or exits. The bulk of the present police force is only here to ensure the safety of the public at the moment. The job of locating the Black Skulls and carrying out the Mayor's rescue lies in the hands of Metroville's Supers. We have received reports that both The Gamer and the Incredibles are currently inside attempting to neutralize the threat, but we have yet to see this for ourselves.

"In the mean time, we are attempting to reassess the situation. Several minutes ago, gunfire was plainly audible from the inside of the building but it now appears as though it has completely died away. The crowd and all gathered here are anxiously awaiting the outcome of the assumed encounters and we…

"Wait ladies and gentlemen, there seems to be some activity by the main entrance of the Hall: The police have drawn their weapons and are awaiting orders to fire! It appears that someone is coming out! We can't see who as of yet but appears… to be…

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's the mayor! And The Incredibles, as well as… The Gamer! They did it! The Mayor has been successfully rescued!"


	5. Getting to Know You

**Chapter 4: Getting to Know You**

Jovial laughter rang out in the Parr home as the family recalled the humorous moments of the rescue they had pulled off the day before. Everyone was gathered in the basement living room (the "secret lair" they had come to call it) sipping soft drinks and enjoying the company of their new friend Michael Mason. Here, away from the pomp and circumstance of the city's thanks and praise, conversation and feelings could flow freely without civilian eyes and ears picking out things that they shouldn't.

"I'll never forget the look on their boss's face when you jumped him from behind, Mike," Dash chuckled. "It was like he'd seen Frankenstein."

"Well, you were the one The Black Skull was looking at when Mike surprised him. You don't think your face had anything to do with that reaction?" Violet said with a sly grin.

Dash threw a withering look at his sister and everyone laughed again.

"One for your side, Violet," Jack-Jack quipped.

Violet had grown proficient at this bickering game she and Dash played, and everybody got a kick out of it. Over the years it had grown from an old sibling rivalry to an abstract form of affection for them. Working together so often had formed a powerful bond in this family. Michael liked that. He didn't know what is was like to have brothers or sisters, but he could see now what an enviable thing it was. Of course he'd had his parents, but there was something special about a big family. It was something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but that he could sense flowing throughout the room. The warmth was so strong one could almost reach out and grab it. He felt at home here, though he'd walked in the door not two hours ago.

"So where did you work before you came to Metroville?" Bob smiled, taking a sip of his soda.

"In Washington D.C. actually," Michael said. "Not one of the best places to live, but a fun place to work."

Helen's eyes widened a bit. "Washington D.C.? Wow. No shortage of excitement there I'll bet. I've known a few supers who worked there and they said crime had a unique flavor in the capitol."

Michael looked over at Helen, faint confusion in his eyes. "Oh no, I didn't work the streets of the capitol. They had more than enough supers on duty there, it being the seat of power and all. I worked in the Research and Development division of the NSA."

That came as a surprise to many in the room.

"So you didn't do any hero work there?" Bob asked.

"Nope. I worked exclusively in the Labs."

"Huh." Bob rubbed his chin. "That is interesting. How did you like that?"

"Very much, actually," Michael replied." I've always had a creative streak and a head for mechanics, so I got along there well."

"So you're a scientist?" Dash ventured.

"Of sorts," Michael hesitated. "I'm more like an engineer. I can't tell you exactly what I do, but sufficed to say that they were looking for new research talent when the supers came out of hiding. I've worked in the labs for the past four years now, but the NSA decided to give me a change of venue for a bit. Since I'm technically still part of the R&D program, I only work the hero shifts part time so I can continue the projects sent up to me from the capitol."

A few unsettled glances darted around the room as this sank in.

"You… you weren't one of those projects, were you?" Violet whispered incredulously.

Michael threw back his head in laughter.

"I guess I had you going there for a moment didn't I?" he grinned. "Sorry if I threw you off for a moment, but no. I've got a lot of things I can turn into and guinea pig isn't one of them. The work I'm involved in is exclusively technological. To give you an idea, I _can_ tell you I helped develop the design for the standard super transports the NSA uses now. Each one is customized to its user, but they all are based off the same basic blueprint."

Helen looked at Michael in amazement. "So you helped design the Incredivan?" she asked.

Michael shook his head. "Not exactly. It contains equipment my team developed, but a group specialized in creating super team technology put it together. The two Incredibile sedans you and Mr. Parr drive, on the other hand, are based on my team's designs."

"I'm impressed," Bob said. "I didn't think they'd be anything near as good as my old car, but I've got to admit that you did a great job. Whatever happened to the old Incredibile anyway? I miss that car."

Michael looked over at the super father with a knowing smile. "You can rest assured that it's secured and still intact. We actually used it as a model for the new vehicles. The reason it wasn't returned to you was that most of the technology on it has become outdated. Besides, a 1950's model would be rather conspicuous out on today's streets, wouldn't you say?"

Bob looked a little dismayed but nodded in agreement.

Dash had been surprisingly quiet through this conversation. He was perplexed about something that Michael had said that didn't make sense to him. Finally he voiced his thoughts.

"So how come you didn't do hero work before? You'd think that a guy with your kind of powers would be out on the street every day. Why did the NSA put you to work just now?"

The question hung in the air as Michael turned towards Dash.

"One simple reason," Michael responded. "My powers were only unlocked just recently. Otherwise the NSA would have set me to hero work long before now."

An awkward silence passed. 'Recently unlocked' he had said. What did Michael mean by that?

"So, how did you find out how to use your powers?" Jack-Jack finally asked. "And how do they work?"

"Now that is a good question," Michael said as with a warm smile on his face. "It's a little complicated, but it's also quite an interesting story. You want me to tell you?"

Every member of the family nodded. Michael could sense the curiosity in the room as he settled into his seat. Somehow, he felt that he could trust this family, something he had not felt in a long time.

"Well then, I'll start at the beginning," he said.

"It was a combination of several things actually. The most important part of it was a genetic mutation that I was born with. It started out as a routine infant blood test for genetic illnesses, but turned into a minor investigation when they found an irregular segment in my DNA structure. The doctors didn't quite know what to make of it. The block looked faintly like a super's gene, but they determined that it couldn't be because it wasn't complete. They proposed continuing the investigation to see if they could bring out any powers I might have, since hero work was still legal then, but neither of my parents felt comfortable with their son being a test subject. Besides that, I was perfectly healthy, even after two weeks in the hospital, so they sent me home without any further trouble.

"It didn't end there, however. After the superhero ban went into effect, any hospital records identifying even a potential super had to be reported the Superhero Relocation Agency for security. So even though I had a normal childhood, the government kept tabs on me. They kept track of my school records to see if I had heightened intelligence and recorded the information from my doctor visits. They can be very good at snooping when they want to be.

"But for all that time and effort, the only remarkable thing they saw was my talent with machines. I wouldn't call myself a genius, but I did manage to slap together a working engine when I was twelve and managed to get moved up a grade in school. But it wasn't so much engines and machines, but computers that tickled my fancy. Somehow the idea of working in a transistorized miniature environment really appealed to me, and I was hooked the first time I touched a key board. By the time I finished high school I had already built my own personal computer. Though it was crude and could only run simple programs, it was enough to get the ball rolling for my current career.

"I was 17, out of school, and looking for a job when the NSA was reorganized, opening up a whole new range of employment opportunities. So, I sent in my resume. Since the government already had me marked as a potential super and knew of my capacity in science, they almost immediately approached me with a post in the Research and Development division of the new agency. You can just imagine how fast I said yes. Not only would I have a job, but they would provide training and education in the latest fields of technology and science.

"So I relocated to Washington D.C. and was put right to work on a team that helped to develop the technology that went into most of the NSA's new programs. As time went by, my team gained a reputation for specializing in computers and electronics and we eventually became the go-to guys in the NSA on anything digital or electrical.

"It was in that setting that I discovered my true abilities. Not long ago we were given the assignment to develop a system which could read, copy, and save human memories in digital form, with the end goal being to improve the record keeping of the Agency and upgrade older technology in the field of memory. I can't say exactly what, but I'm sure Mr. Parr knows what tech I'm talking about."

"What does he mean, Dad?" Jack-Jack whispered to his father.

"Well…let's just say your dad did some super things without his super suit on," Bob said carefully. "The NSA needed to protect our identities so they used a special tool to help those people forget that they had seen me do those things. It didn't hurt them at all; it just made it so they couldn't remember what happened."

Jack-Jack's eyes had widened at first, but he settled down as his dad explained.

"So, why didn't you have your super suit on? Did you forget it?"

Bob grimaced.

"It's a long story son. I'll tell you about it later. Let's keep quiet and listen to Mike, OK?"

"After a few months, we had built a device and written software which could accurately interpret and read the thoughts of the brain, then save them as either raw memories or as digital text, audio, and video files. The device we used was like a headset that you put on the volunteers, and it would pick up and read their thoughts and copy them down as they thought them. It even had the capability to take digital files from the computer, convert them into neurological signals the human brain could understand and remember, and then broadcast them through the device. It could not, however, remove or tamper with memories already in the brain.

"We began testing it on animal subjects and were immediately faced with a significant problem. Though we had obtained the first digitally copied memories and the subjects were unharmed, the recordings had no coherency to them. We couldn't work with random thoughts, garbled by emotional overlays; we needed clear and precise memories. So we went to work exploring the mind's makeup and found an intriguing truth.

"Even though our memories appear scattered and imperfect to us, the brain is truly like a huge library. It's got a special organization to it: sections for each of the senses plus your emotional responses. What's more, you always have a memory of everything you've ever done, even if you lose or alter the index card showing you where to find it. It's not that our memories are imperfect; it's that our reference to them is clouded, confused, impaired or deliberately changed. You can rearrange the reading order all you want and stick your own emotional tags of denial on the catalog slip, but the raw material is always there. The problem we first had was that we were going through the conscious thoughts of the person (the "librarian" if you will) to get our recordings. The trick for us was to bypass the "librarian" and go straight to the shelves of the subconscious."

Michael paused and sheepishly glanced around the room.

"Have I completely lost you guys or what?" he asked.

"Not at all," Helen answered in surprise. "I think what you're talking about is fascinating."

"I think it's cool too," seconded Jack-Jack. Nods of agreement circled the room at this.

Michael shrugged. "Sorry. You must know the project played a part in discovering my powers, it's just I have a tendency to go off on tangents when I'm explaining something of interest."

"That's more than can be said for Little Miss Shy over here," Dash said, jabbing a flippant thumb in Violet's direction, a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, that's quite a comment coming from Mr. Motor Mouth," Vi shot back with a challenging grin.

"Kiiids," Helen glowered.

"We know, Mom," Dash said innocently. "Go on, Mike. Tell us about your brain-recorder thing."

Michael smiled and went on.

"First we made it so the hardware could actively search the subconscious memories of the subject instead of passively picking up brain waves. Then, we edited the reading software to analyze, accurately locate, and tie related memories together. With these modifications, the recordings we got from animals became clearer. We then moved on to human volunteers. With a bit more ironing, we eventually had a fast and precise memory recording system which produced comprehensible and fluid reconstructions of human memories. Of course, throughout this process, we were put under strict obligation to allow the subject to see and choose what was copied and what was not, to ensure we did not probe into personal things. But in the end, our volunteers (all members of the NSA for security reasons) went home with recordings of their weddings, their families, whatever it was they requested.

"Once the system was perfected, I inevitably decided to try it myself as a final assurance. I put on the headset, gave the OK, and my team mates activated the recording sequence. Everything in the system worked perfectly, but as soon as the program began accessing my memories, I could feel something changing. It was as if my whole body was suddenly listening to this new stimulus, trying to understand it and adapt. Then it seemed that _I_ was looking into the computer bank instead of the computer looking into _me_. What was more; I could understand what I was seeing! The copy was successful, but everyone in the room knew from the readouts and alarms that something unintended had happened.

"We investigated and discovered that when my already unique genetic structure was exposed to the data stream it had mutated further to adapt to the data. My undeveloped super's gene had found a voice. Even though my physical capabilities were unaltered, my brain could now transmit, store, and receive digital data as well as ordinary neurological signals and memories. It was now the equivalent of a biological mother board! Beyond that, the cells of my body could now respond to computer based signals sent out from the brain. I had become essentially a living computer system.

"But that was only half of it. We soon discovered that my delinquent super gene was a form of the shape-shifter ability. It had only lacked a defined way to express itself - a definition it now had. In addition to the capacity to read computer code, my cells could now use that code to digitally copy and rearrange themselves to form a completely new shape. In short, I could transform into models and characters that were stored as memories in my brain, along with any special abilities downloaded with them."

"So you can use any power from any character at any time?" Jack-Jack asked excitedly.

Michael made a face. "Well, no. However cool that would be, I can only use the powers of a certain character when in that respective form. The Gamer can't throw Mario's fireballs and Mario can't run fast like Sonic, or anything like that. I can't do anything the character wasn't programmed to do unless I write it in there myself."

"Well that's a bummer," Dash said. "Still, it would be kind of funny to see Sonic with Link's sword wouldn't it?"

"That it would, but the video game companies would jump down my throat if they realized I was mixing up their characters," Michael responded. "We've had more than enough superhero lawsuits and I'd just as soon stay out of that mud puddle."

"Amen to that!" was Bob's reply, with firm nods from everyone else in the room.

"Anyway," Michael resumed, "the higher-ups moved me into the superhero training program so I could explore the extent of my new found powers. Almost immediately I discovered that I couldn't use imagined creations, only forms that were clearly defined as digital characters. I consulted my team and we constructed a test model we dubbed "DigiKnight1" which involved only a change in appearance. When that mental upload and transformation proved totally successful, we went to town modifying the character, testing out what powers were practical and which were not. Out of that experimentation, coupled with license to use a few of the gaming industry's characters, The Gamer was born: A digital caricature of myself with greatly enhanced strength, agility, and speed.

"However, my real power is in the arsenal of characters I've developed aside from my super alias. In addition to alternate forms of The Gamer (such as the invisible Stealth Gamer), I have such things as Mario with his high jumps and fire balls, Sonic the Hedgehog with his speed and agility, and Donkey Kong with his raw strength, to name a few. The only limit to the list is how large my memory is. The bottom line is if it can be digitally rendered, I can use it.

"That is more or less is how I got to where I am now."

Michael sat back as he finished his tale. Of course he hadn't told them everything, but what he _had_ said was more than what he normally would say to any recent acquaintance. He was rather surprised at himself for being so open. The Parrs, still a bit quizzical, also knew that there was more to it than what Michael had related. But they too had family secrets and felt satisfied with how candid their guest had been, for now.

"That is an impressive story Michael," Helen said. "That's quite a lot of stuff under the belt for someone your age."

Michael nodded his agreement. "Yeah, it's sometimes hard for me to believe it's been like it has. Anyone but a super would call it a crazy story."

"No arguments there," Bob remarked.

Violet sat forward in her seat and asked, "So why did the NSA send you here? There are plenty of places you could have gone to. Why stick you in a city with us?"

"Well, you need to remember that I still work in Research and Development," Michael said. "Uncle Sam didn't want to completely lose a top developer to the streets, so they set me up here to provide support to your family's own coverage and still have room to have me work projects for my team. Not that you weren't doing a fine job of it already. Besides, I consider it an honor for a newbie like myself to be working beside a family like yours."

"Hmm," Violet considered. "I guess that makes sense, even though I personally think it's a waste of man-power. Who's to argue if they want to send a man like you to work with us?"

Dash, ever watchful of his sister, noticed a low flush creeping up Violet's neck as she said this. Knowing her, that could mean one of two things depending on her body language and tone, and he could clearly see that there was no animosity behind her words. He smirked smugly as the thought dawned on him and took special note of it in his devious little mind. Something new he could poke his oldest sib with; a special little something.

"Does anyone want a window open?" Dash asked innocently.

"Why?" Violet asked. The faintly suspicious and defensive tone confirmed it.

"Oh nothing, I just thought it was getting a little warm in here, that's all."


	6. Beneath the Surface

**Chapter 5: Beneath the Surface**

A lone man sat in a weathered chair, idly watching the screen of a powerful computer; the only feature of the room that was in good condition. The rest of the dwelling was old and run down. It was a single, large, badly lit room with a few crude partitions thrown up for convenience. An old but high-tech generator chugged away in a far corner of the room, providing both electricity and a small amount warmth to ward off the chill. One could almost call it a converted basement, except that it had no upper floors to qualify it as such. The structural integrity was sound however, it had plenty of work space, and it was out of the way from the rest of society, so it fit the needs of the gentleman nicely.

Of course he had plans to fix up the place. He had many plans in fact, the first of which was displayed on the screen before him. Three names were listed there, each the title of a business or company which had come into existence not forty-eight hours ago. Statistics and figures for each of them revealed that, while they had appeared just that Monday, they were gaining some interest in the market. However, none of them had gotten a commission or contract yet. That was what the young man was waiting for.

Finally, a notice flashed on the monitor and the man sat up to read it. It was a commission for a product advertised by the establishment of Technix Development; now the most successful of the three new firms. A bemused grin swept up the man's face as a single word fell from his lips:

"Customers."

* * *

Bob sat at in his chair, reading the paper before heading off for his Wednesday evening shift. Now-a-days, he always made sure to do his reading before or after dinner, both because he wanted to be fully engaged during the dinner conversation, and because Helen had made a point of telling him quite some time ago that, unless he wanted it as a place mat, the paper belonged in the living room, not at the table. It had taken some doing, but the family had freed him of his habitual meal reading not long after they had moved to their new house.

Dinner was over and Helen was putting the leftovers away while the kids helped work on the dishes. Elastigirl had been out on patrol earlier that day and was looking forward to a quiet evening. She finished cleaning off the table and walked into the front room where her husband sat.

"Anything interesting?" Helen asked as she took her seat.

"A few things, but most of the usual," Bob said without looking up. "I'm expecting there won't be too much tonight, but one can always hope."

Right then, Jack-Jack came running in from the kitchen with his hands still dripping from the dishes.

"Hey, Dad, is it your turn for patrol?" he asked.

"Yes, Jack-Jack," Bob intoned as he continued to read. The super boy's eyes lit up. Now was the perfect chance for him to ask.

"Can I go with you, please?"

Both parents glanced up, one in disapproval, one in acknowledgement. Before Helen could speak, Bob answered, "Sure son, as long as you finish your job in time."

Jack-Jack gave a whoop and lunged into the kitchen to finish up his work. Helen, an unspoken objection at her lips, sat there looking at her husband with a perturbed look. An awkward silence hung in the air. Bob, knowing what that meant, looked up from his paper to meet his wife's gaze.

"What is it honey?" he asked.

"How old is Jack-Jack, Bob?"

"Seven," he shrugged.

"Isn't that a little young for him to be going out on a night shift?"

"No. As long as he's with one of us, it's fine."

"It's fine with the authorities, it _not_ fine with me," Helen said firmly. "He is too young, honey."

Bob set his paper down and sat up. "He's been out on duty before, dear. It's not like he hasn't seen any action."

"During the day and with the rest of the family, Bob," Helen corrected, an edge coming into her voice. "And even then, he's needed someone to help him. You remember what happened when he tried to take down Metallic by himself?"

"Yes, I know, honey; he could have been killed. But Dash and Michael were there for him."

"That is not the point," Helen retorted. "The point is that he was on his own, with no supervision, fighting someone completely out of his league, leaving no excuse for allowing him to get in that situation."

"Honey, there were five of us and five of them. What did you want us to do?"

"Bob, he hasn't even learned to fully control his powers!"

"But he's learning! And _doing_ is the best way to learn; he doesn't need to wait to go to the Supers Academy. No one but Jack-Jack can figure out how to tap his potential. How can he become an independent super if he never has the chance to work on his own?"

Of course Helen knew all of this, but that did not change the fact that, in her mind, Jack-Jack was still only a child. And as any caring mother would, she intended to protect her children from harm.

"How can you be so casual about this?" Helen accused. "We are talking about our son here; in life and death situations."

Bob also knew this, but he was use to the danger and was confident that his kids could handle it too.

"Helen, there is always that risk, especially in hero work," He said. "You can't get around it. But I'll tell you what: if you're so concerned about Jack-Jack out at night, I'll bring him back by ten-o-clock and finish the shift alone. What do you think of that?" Bob had learned when it was time to compromise with his wife.

"Nine-o-clock," Helen countered.

"Nine-thirty," Bob offered. Helen considered this a moment.

"Alright, nine-thirty. But stay out of trouble; both of you, you hear me."

"Yes, honey," Bob nodded as he got up.

"You hear me too, John Jackson Parr?" Helen called out.

The boy stepped out from around the kitchen entryway where he had been eves-dropping.

"Yes, Mom," he said sullenly as he joined his father to get ready to leave.

Helen watched them walk out of the room then crossed her arms, looking out into space.

"You think I don't know when you kids are listening?" Helen asked with a knowing look on her face. Dash guiltily poked his head out of the kitchen and walked into the room to join Violet who had appeared next to the sofa.

"Well the dishes were done, so what were we suppose to do?" Dash shrugged.

"Are we really that obvious?" Violet asked.

"I'm your mother; I know my own children."

"Well, mostly," Violet said as she plopped down on the sofa.

Helen's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that, honey?"

"To cut it short," Dash answered, "I think she means that Dad has a point."

"Exactly," Violet nodded. "Jack-Jack may be a Jr. Super, but he isn't a baby."

Helen was caught off guard; this coming from Bob was one thing, but from Violet and Dash? Still, it didn't change the fact that Jack-Jack was Helen's ward as Elastigirl. More than that, she was Jack-Jack's mother!

"Maybe you're right," Helen said, "Jack-Jack isn't a baby anymore. However I will not just stand idly by and watch him get hurt."

"And neither will we, you can count on that," Dash replied. "Just loosen up a bit, OK."

Violet nodded then added, "Or as you say, Mom; 'be a bit more flexible,'"

Before Helen could answer, Violet vanished and Dash zipped away, their exits followed by their doors opening and closing upstairs. And so a bewildered mother was left to her thoughts as she listened to the Incredibile speed away with her youngest son.

* * *

As was his habit now-a-days, Daschle Parr awoke early for his Saturday morning run. He did a few stretches, threw on his super suit, filled his water pack, and was out the door in less than ten minutes. It was a good five miles from the Parr home to the Metroville Speedway outside of town; a good "jogging" warm up for Dash before the real work began. He arrived at the track and made his way to the starting line with a special key the owners had provided him with. There he stopped to stretch out a bit. Even though he was a super, Dash had to maintain his flexibility as well as his speed and strength, just like any other athlete. His physical abilities were one of the few things he took seriously, aside from his family and his work, and he did everything he could to improve them. Once he was ready, The Falcon took his mark, punched his stop-watch, and took off.

The Metroville Speedway was a two mile racetrack with highly embanked turns; the perfect place for a super-powered speed freak to cut loose. And while a racecar had to slow down for the turns, The Falcon could take these bends with little trouble at his top speed. 253 mph was his current speed record and he was getting faster with each passing month, a fact made plain by his ever improving track times. They were so fast that, at one time, he had even asked to enter the qualifying round for the local racing league to test his ability. But, of course, Helen would have none of it. Dash then had his ear bent with how hero work was test enough for him and how dangerous it would be to run alongside racecars jockeying for position on an asphalt track.

After twenty minutes of running, Dash slowed to his "walk" to begin a cool down. As he ran a leisurely 30 mph along the pavement, a recurring thought popped into his mind: wouldn't it be fun to actually race someone. Sure, he had pit his speed against some very fast, deadly, and exciting foes in the past, but that was not quite what he had in mind. In his entire life, Dash had never had an equal he could have a friendly competition with. In fact, apart from his own family, he had very few actual friends at all.

That wasn't to say that Dash had lots of enemies (excluding the ones he fought as The Falcon), he just never managed to forge any lasting relationships with anyone, and that stung the young hero. He would try, but whenever he did, something would push people away. Maybe it was his competitive nature, or perhaps his attitude set people off; he didn't quite know what it was. More than likely, though, it was the fact that he was a teenage superhero. As a super, lots of people look up to you when in uniform and you get lots of public support, but once out of the super suit, a super's life was almost always doomed to be lonely. Constantly having to be on your guard for fear of revealing your identity makes it very difficult to bond with ordinary people. Add that to the pathos of young-adulthood and things can get rather drab.

Now, if there was another super in town, not a relative, who could actually keep up with Dash, that would be something else. There was The Gamer, of course, but Dash needed someone his own age who shared his interests; a friend he could relate to. Besides, Michael was always so busy with his own work; he probably couldn't spare the time even if Dash were to make friends with him. Then again, there was no harm in inviting Michael to join him at the track, even if for one day. If anything, it might be fun to see just what Michael could do when it came down to speed. What could it hurt; anything to break silence that was Dash's personal life.

* * *

As Dash was out for his run, Violet was busy finishing her own workout. The cool of the downstairs recreation room felt clammy on sweaty skin, but she was willing to endure it; she had endured worse after all. Compared to the obstacles she had faced while in the line of duty, the super woman reasoned reaching her new total goal of one-hundred-and-sixty push-ups should be a cinch. Why was it never that easy?

Violet had reached one-hundred-forty and now stood on hands and knees, catching her breath before tackling the last set of twenty. Even though it was normal to do exercises in sets, Violet just couldn't shake the idea that doing it this way showed how weak she really was. Practically everyone in the family could do more repetitions then she could. Now, no one could rightly compare them self to Violet's Dad, not even Violet. No one was even sure how many push-ups the mega-man could do. He had once gone a full three hours none-stop just to see if he could tire himself with that exercise, to no avail. He had been sore for a day or two afterward, but the fact remained that his push-up limit was as yet undetermined.

Helen, Dash, and Jack-Jack were a different story. Mom's current average was four sets of fifty, which was considered normal for any super hero. Jack-Jack, being only seven, was not even to the hundreds yet, but his current record of seventy strait push-ups was definitely nothing to sneeze at. And then there was Dash. Ever the show-off, Dash could (and would) do two-hundred strait push-ups and think nothing of it. It wasn't so much his strength that allowed him to accomplish the feat; it was his speed and endurance. At the rate his limbs pumped at maximum speed, a few hundred repetitions of any normal activity was nothing to the fifteen-year-old. Violet at least took comfort in the fact that Dash had tired out at five-hundred-and-seventy-three, marking his strength as having a definite limit.

Still, she could never hope to match her little brother at the rate she was going. Getting into position, Violet set her concentration and began her last set. At one-fifty, the trembling started up, but Vi kept going. At one-fifty-five, it felt as though her arms would fall off, but she stubbornly continued. Four more… Three more… Two more… One…more…. With a grunt, Violet reached the goal and collapsed in a heap on the carpet.

After a moment's rest, she rolled onto her back so she could get her breath easier. Her whole body was drained from the hour's worth of exercise she had done, but she was satisfied that with her accomplishments. It could not be denied that she was getting stronger, both in body and power. Violet's abilities had more than doubled in strength and versatility compared to where she was five years ago. But as she rose from the floor to stretch out and cool down, she couldn't help but wonder: was she strong enough?

* * *

Things had improved significantly over the last week. The once dark and dingy dwelling was now properly lit and the old partitions had been made more permanent. The old generator still chugged away, but it was growing apparent that it would soon need to be replaced by something stronger. But just because things had improved wasn't to say the place was clean. Pieces of scrap-metal, plastic, and left over circuitry lay strune about a work table in what the occupant had dubbed the "workshop" half of the room. Surrounding this area were neat rows of finished products, lining the walls and newly installed shelves. Packages sat by the exit waiting to be shipped out to their growing number of customers. Every inch of this space was filled with something.

At the other end of the room (in the part dubbed the "office"), sat the owner as he looked over a mess of folders and papers. Of these files that he had gathered, the one he was most interested in detailed information on one Daniel Drawcab. The basic facts were few but complete: he was born and raised in Metroville, he had performed very well in school, and he currently worked as a federal government employee in the justice department. They had done a good job at covering his tracks. The government was very good at protecting their assets when they thought them valuable. Too bad they didn't consider Mr. Drawcab as such anymore. The room he now sat in was evidence of that. They hadn't been satisfied with a pink slip, they actually helped him pack up his office and destroy his research. Of course they had offered a good retirement fund, enough to keep his mouth shut at least, but Daniel was not interested in aid provided by snobbish cowards. He cordially declined their money and, upon promising them he'd remain silent, struck out on his own.

Why his employers had snubbed him was one thing Daniel couldn't quite understand. He was one of their brightest minds. He was also very trusted: he was known for his willingness to do anything to perform his duty. Even if it meant going a little far afield. His ideas for keeping people in line could get pretty creative when he put his mind to it. But those idiot bureaucrats, no doubt feeling repulsed and threatened by Daniel's ideas and methods, had instead tried to contain and limit him. He showed them, at length, just what a mistake it would be to ignore his advice and they turned on him! Raw talent stands before you and you squelch it; it was maddening just how stupid people could be!

Daniel pushed these thoughts aside as he continued his research. Distractions make for sloppy work and he had to make sure that there were no ties between his past life and what he was doing now. As far as the world was concerned, "Daniel Drawcab" wasn't in that room. And he never would be. That life was behind him. He now went by many names, each a carefully crafted façade working to further his ambitions. And with some good effort, careful planning, and a little manipulation, those ambitions would soon be realized.


	7. New Developments

**Chapter 6: New Developments**

Michael sat at his terminal, his fingers flashing over the keyboard as he put the finishing touches on his latest research assignment. The thing wasn't due back at the NSA for a few days yet, but Michael always liked to be ahead of schedule. That way he could better proof his work and have more time for his own projects, evidence of which sat all over his lab rooms. Near the computer terminal was a large device that he had invented and dubbed the Digitizer; a machine that converted matter into digital coding for storage and modification. Beside that stood its predecessor, the Omni-Scanner, which could take a full and complete scan of an object and generate a near perfect digital model of it. And in the garage was a standard issue super vehicle, in several stages of modification, with its on-board computer busy downloading the new programs that Michael had written for it.

These were only some of the many ideas that Mr. Mason had brought into the world. Others still stirred in his transistorized mind, waiting for their chance to be made reality. Among them were possibilities for The Gamer's arsenal of characters and alternate forms. One in particular had been nagging at Michael for a while; something that currently was titled "Project G."

Typing the final line of code, Michael saved his work and began the checking process.

"Alpha," he said. A command line box with the word "\Ready" appeared on the monitor.

"Begin code diagnostic and testing on package MemCheck, please."

\Confirmed.

\Beginning diagnostic of MemCheck.

Michael sat back as his special main frame A.I., which he called "Alpha," searched the new program for any errors and let his thoughts fall upon his G project. He hadn't really done much on it yet, just laid the outline for it. It was to be a modified version of The Gamer, that much he knew, but the exact look and abilities were still a question mark. Daschle Parr's idea about mixing character abilities had refused to go away since that first night at their family's home. And while Michael knew he couldn't change up the techniques of any trademark characters, that didn't stop him from modifying his own signature form with new abilities. And as long as he kept his ideas original, he could draw inspiration from anywhere.

That thought was halted as Alpha gave her report.

\Diagnostic complete.

\\Sytax Errors: 0.

\\Compiler Errors: 0.

\\Runtime Errors: 0.

\Suggestions:

\\Class MemSort: Lines 34 - 55: Runtime longer than necessary. Consider revising.

\\Main Method: Line 165: Redundant code. Consider Removing.

Well, that was an improvement. It still wasn't perfect, but it was almost there. Michael called up the offending lines of code and looked them over. Alpha was right about each one, as usual, and they did need to be tuned up. However, Michael didn't have the time right then. He was due at the Metroville Speedway soon and he calculated that he only had about four minutes before he had to leave.

"Alpha, please open Project G, authorization Charlie Mike Kilo"

\Authorization code confirmed.

\Opening Project G.

Michael sat back and gazed upon what looked like the base form of The Gamer. However, this model's strength and speed stats were greatly amplified and had the added ability of flight. Michael called up the appearance editor and began tinkering with the color scheme. It needed to be something more flashy and vibrant. Red, yellow, and black was out of the question; those were already taken. Maybe a combination of green and red? No, too much Christmas in it. Something cool but not to ostentatious. That ruled out gold, but why not silver?

Michael looked at the rendering for a moment. It didn't look half bad. Perhaps a change here and there would do. Michael ended up with a Gamer form wearing the standard black gloves and boots matched with a silver super suit covered by his usual blue vest. It really did look like an amped up version of The Gamer. It would need more work, but he felt he was on the right track.

Michael saved the project and got up. He'd worry about that later. Right now he had a race to attend.

* * *

Daniel checked over his calculations one last time. With such limited resources, he wanted to be sure that this machine would work the first time and not need to be rebuilt once complete. Of course it wasn't built yet, but the idea had been on his mind since before he was fired. In fact, this design was one of several the NSA had used to justify terminating him when they did. They went so far as to call his ideas "cruel and unusual punishment." Hypocrites.

Daniel knew enough to know that the government he once worked for was capable of much worse things than destroying someone's mind. How could anything top dropping a nuclear warhead on a city? Daniel figured that if you had something to your advantage you should use it, because if you didn't someone else would. But his employers had not seen it that way. Sometimes, Daniel wondered if they had some personal vendetta against him.

Running through the numbers proved successful. In theory, this upgrade to the NSA's memory-eraser technology would work flawlessly. Daniel marked the final checks on the blueprints and set them aside for fabrication. This wouldn't be going out to the public though. Those cheap consumer products were merely a means of capital to fund his real research and developments. And with the amount of success that Daniel was having, he surmised that he wouldn't need to keep pumping out products for too much longer. Perhaps it was time to pull a few strings. It would be a risk and all have to be well planned, well timed, and discrete, but the pay-off would be well worth it. Besides, he was confident in his marketing techniques; he had nothing to worry about.

As he continued his work, one question was left hovered in his head: when the new device was ready, who would he test it on first?

* * *

"You ready Mike?"

"Ready when you are Dash. Just give the signal."

Finally, some actual friendly competition! Dash had been excited when Michael agreed to run with him, but now he could hardly stay still, he was so keyed up. As he and Michael took their marks on the speedway starting line, Dash puzzled over why Michael was still in his Gamer form. Why not start off as Sonic or some other fast character? Either The Gamer was much faster than Michael was letting on or he was just trying to throw Dash off. Knowing Michael, it could either or both.

"OK, onyourmarkgetsetgo!"

Dash zipped off the line so fast that Gamer was nearly swept off his feet. Dash was proud of the fact that no manned vehicle could accelerate like he could. Apparently, The Gamer couldn't match his zero-to-sixty either because Dash was already entering turn three as The Gamer swung out of the second turn; a good distance behind, but he was gaining. Dash sped through turns three and four and shot across the line to complete the first of their ten laps. Entering the first turn, Dash was surprised to look back and see The Gamer right behind him and that he wasn't running now. It looked as if the shape shifter was skating up the track, only he wasn't on skates; he wasn't even touching the tarmac!

"G-Diffuser boots," The Gamer said as he passed the startled youth on the inside. "They're based off the concepts in the Starfox and F-Zero games. Having zero friction has its advantages wouldn't you say?" Gamer smirked as he powered forward. "Now let's see what you really got, Dash!"

This was going to be fun. An impish grin crept up Dash's face as he lengthened his stride and increased his foot speed. In a flash, he was eye to eye with his opponent.

"I wasn't even trying Gamer. You want to see what the Falcon can do? You got it!"

Several things happened at once. As the two racers left turn two, Falcon ducked low and sped forward with a great burst of speed. Beside him, The Gamer leapt forward into the air as pixilated matter ran up his body. When his feet touched down, they were no longer The Gamer's black boots, but the red sneakers of Sonic the Hedgehog. A ribbon of red and a blur of blue shot down the back strait, jockeying for position in a 200 mile-per-hour battle. The two banked hard through the turns and sped into lap three with the Falcon in a narrow lead.

As they entered the first turn, Sonic made a move to the inside, but Falcon was there to block. The hedgehog eased off and drifted to the outside, but Falcon stayed with him. The young Incredible was not about to give his competition an edge. From behind, Sonic considered his next move. At these speeds he would need to be very careful, especially around Dash's competitive drive. He had rarely seen anyone so determined to win before and he surmised that horse-play, something to which Sonic was very inclined, would do little to help either of them. Shoving aside the character's carefree flippancy, The Gamer plotted his course with precision. It was time to get serious.

From there, the race continued on as if it were a professional competition. Drafting, shadowing and the occasional overtake flavored the battle for the lead with no shortage of excitement. The playful banter all but ceased as both competitors focused all their attention on the road before them. The speed slowly increased as Sonic continued to press his challenger, but Falcon was determined to keep the lead if he could. The fires of resolve, capable of burning through any villain, shown clearly in his eyes.

But no fire can stay hot forever. By the ninth lap, Falcon was showing signs of tiring. Sustaining velocities around 125 mph was no problem for the young super, but higher speeds were a steady drain on the teen's endurance. Dash couldn't think of a time he had needed to run this quick for this long. Not even the chase around Nomanisan Island had been this trying. And though he fought to maintain it, his pace began to slow.

Michael had been counting on this. While every character Michael assumed required energy to function, just like any living thing, each form had been specially coded to use stamina in different ways to compensate for high drain abilities. The Sonic character was specifically designed for high continuous speeds and did not tire from them easily. And since Falcon seemed to be losing steam, Gamer figured it was time to liven things up a bit. As the two approached the final lap, Sonic pulled up beside the fatiguing Falcon wearing his mischievous grin.

"Well, friend, see you at the finish line," said the blue speedster. With that, he leapt forward as seven colored gems appeared in mid air and circled about him. Dash instantly recognized what his opponent was doing. He'd played the Sonic games enough to know the secret that awaited those who gathered all the power-ups known as chaos emeralds: the extra fast and powerful Super Sonic. With a flash, the blue hedgehog was replaced by a bright yellow hedgehog surrounded by a golden glow. Hovering just above the track, Super Sonic flipped around on his back and waved a haughty farewell, then sped away faster than ever.

"OK, that's it!" Falcon cried. With renewed determination, The Incredible Falcon poured every last ounce of strength he had into his exhausted legs. He was _not _going to lose now!

What happened then, no one was expecting. To the speeding Super Sonic on the back strait, it was as if a red cannon ball had shot passed him like he was standing still. To Falcon, it was like nothing he had ever experienced. It felt like a dam had burst within him as a flood of untapped energy filled his veins, propelling him forward at tremendous speed. And though his senses told him he was moving incredibly fast, in his mind's eye it was as if time its self had slowed. Everything was happening so rapidly and yet his wits didn't miss a single detail. So sharp were his perceptions that he could clearly see the texture of the track as he flew by. Dash didn't know exactly what speed he was going, something well above 300 mph he guessed, but he didn't care just then: the thrill of it was out of this world!

At that moment, the finish line passed beneath The Falcon's feet. The race was over; he had won! But no sooner did this thought enter his mind then Dash felt his strength ebb away. His perceptions snapped back to their normal pace, he felt himself slow to a halt, he felt his legs give out, and Dash sank to the pavement completely exhausted. A second later, a whoosh of air announced the arrival of the runner-up. Lying face-up on the track, Dash could hear The Gamer sprint up to his side and felt the young man's hand on his shoulder as his face came into view.

"Dash!" Gamer exclaimed, both worry and wonder in his voice. "Are you alright? What in the world happened?"

"I'm not… really sure," Dash puffed, trying to regain his breath. "I just started… running faster… all of a sudden."

"I'll say," The Gamer said. "You took off like a rocket. I could barely see you, you were going so fast."

"Yeah. I guess… I just…really wanted… to win. I don't… know how, but… it was like… by body just… let loose."

Gamer took on a serious face, turning this information over in his head a moment before responding. No one fully understood the workings of the human body, much less that of a super. But if there was one certainty, the body was capable of great things when the demand presented its self. Now was not the time for speculation, however, not when a friend needed special attention.

"Well," Michael said, "however it happened, it was quite an impressive move. We'll figure it out eventually, but for now let's get you home so you can rest."

Dash wholeheartedly agreed.

* * *

By the time they arrived at the Parr residence, Dash had gotten his wind back but was still quite worn out from his sudden speed snap. Michael offered his shoulder for support as the two boys walk from his civilian car to the house, but Dash politely declined. He much rather preferred to move on his own steam, even though he felt he could sleep for a week. Just thinking about his warm bed made the normally energetic teen even more tired.

But when the two of them walked in the door, both could immediately sense something was amiss. Even the lethargic Dash could pick up the tension that permeated the house. Walking into the kitchen, they found the entire family seated at the table, conversing over the speaker phone with a voice Michael recognized as Police Chief Kramer. Violet looked up as the two entered the room. She stood up, whispered something to the others and walked over to her brother and friend.

"Nice of you guys to drop in," Violet said in a sarcastic yet serious way. "We were wondering when you would get back. What happened to you Dash?" she asked, noticing his groggy appearance.

"Long story," the boy responded. "We'll tell you later. Right now I just need to rest, after you tell us what's up."

"We've got some trouble on our hands,"

"I can see that. What kind of trouble?"

"Apparently someone ripped off Metro P.U.D.," Violet said flatly.

Both Michael and Dash started at this.

"What?" Michael asked incredulously. "The Metroville Public Utilities Department? Who would target them?"

"We don't exactly know who yet. We do know it was a company called Technix. Up until now, it seemed like it was a credible corporation. But this morning, all traces of the group had vanished. No records, no bank accounts, no nothing. The only thing they left was the PUD scammed out of $550,000."

* * *

**Note: Dash's speed burst was not a time warp or anything like that. It was exactly what it is described as: Dash's body and mind were launched into overdrive, making it appear to him that everything else was moving slower while he was moving faster. It plays into the whole theory of relativity thing.**


	8. Breakthroughs

**Chapter 7: Breakthroughs**

"Technix Development: Technical Innovation at its Finest." An interesting tag line. Sadly, that tagline was one of the few things that remained of the company. Michael had systematically searched through the Metroville Public Utilities Department's memory banks for anything useful, but there wasn't much left. Almost all major digital records involving Technix were either gone or corrupted beyond salvage. Michael finally leaned back in his seat at the computer terminal, his mind a mix of questions, theories, and awe.

"So, what do you make of it?" Chief Kramer asked.

The young super gathered his thoughts and sat up, the bleak records room of the Metro PUD seeming to grow bleaker.

"Well, whoever did this definitely knew what he was doing," The Gamer replied. "It seems that every record made for or by Technix has been wiped out. What really amazes me is that those are the only files that have been destroyed. This wasn't just a clean cut deletion of the memory bank, otherwise everything would be gone. As far as MPUD is concerned, everything else is still workable. Their only loss is in their Technix investments. That in and of its self is quite a feat." He turned to face the assisting company archivist. "And you are _sure_ there are no hard copies left?"

"Yes, sir. It's the same situation with the paper archives; only the Technix files are missing and nothing else."

"What's more, forensics has yet to turn up any incriminating evidence of the theft," Chief Kramer interjected. "All we have so far are scuffs, scratches and tooling marks from whatever the perpetrator used to break in."

Gamer turned back to the terminal screen, a grave look in his eye. "They say there's no such thing as a perfect crime," he said. "If that's true, then this sure comes close."

"Yes, you have to give whoever it was credit," the archivist said as The Gamer began digging through the tracking programs. "I'd have to say it's extraordinary. The level of planning that must have gone into this! I've been keeping these books for years now and even I lose track of things in here from time to time. For him to come in so unobtrusively, locate and remove all physical records and then manually find and delete each and every significant file in the computer… it's staggering to think about."

"I think you might be mistaken on that last point," The Gamer said, a tinge of anxiety to his tone.

"What do you mean? This is the only terminal with full access to the archives. He had to have deleted them from here."

"Not according to this, he didn't." The hero moved his chair back to reveal the monitor. "Take a look." The archivist stepped forward to examine the data and an incredulous expression crossed his features as he scrolled through the list.

"That's not possible!" he exclaimed.

"What's not possible?" Chief Kramer asked.

"According to this record, there was not a single user access or input during the entire time frame of the crime," the archivist said. "Not even a key stoke!"

"But there _are_ records of internal commands and program activity during those times," The Gamer pointed out. "And since this is the only terminal that a person could manually delete all the files he needed from, that means that this job wasn't done by a man."

"What are you saying?" the Chief asked in confusion. "Someone must have done it."

"Not some_one_," the digital detective corrected, "some_thing_: A computer virus more specifically and a highly advanced one at that."

"A _virus?_" the archivist cried. "How?"

"It must have been planted inside some of the documents that Technix sent you via the business computer network as part of your transactions; designed to execute at a certain time and only delete and corrupt certain files. It will take me a while to figure out exactly how it was done, but that seems to be the most likely solution, and it just might give us something to go on."

"Well that is just wonderful," the Chief grated. "The business network, one of the most secure mass computer networks, has a cyber criminal on the loose."

* * *

At about that same moment at the Metroville Speedway, Helen Parr was looking down at a radar gun's display as Dash zipped by once again, surprised at the reading it was getting. A minute later Dash was at her side, hands on his legs and breathing heavily.

"I didn't do it,… did I," Dash said flatly.

"No you didn't," Violet said, looking over her mother's shoulder at the speed gun. "In fact, you've slowed up a bit."

Dash dropped his head and pounded his thigh in exasperation, a few choice oaths coming unbidden to his mind. He was at that point where he probably would have said them too, had his mom not been standing right next to him.

"I'm telling you, I did it once!" he exclaimed. "It was right here! Michael saw me do it too, you heard him!"

"Yes, we believe you, Honey," Helen said, "but there must be something that we are missing here."

"Yeah, at this rate you'll probably just tire yourself out" Jack-Jack observed.

"Maybe if you tell us what you were doing when it happened, that could answer some questions" Helen suggested. As concerned as she was for her son's well being, she was genuinely curious about Dash's alleged discovery of power.

Dash straitened, pulled off his special high-speed headset, and gazed out over the track, going over the previous day's race in his head. He felt like kindergartener trying to understand how a computer worked. It was so frustrating to him to know exactly what something did and yet know nothing about how it did it.

"I don't know what I did to make it happen, it just happened," Dash said at last.

"We're not asking what you did to make it happen, we're asking what the circumstances were; give us the details," Helen coaxed.

Pacing back and forth, Dash began ticking off the events: "We were on the last lap and I was getting tired. Michael was running as Sonic and had been keeping pace with me the whole time." Dash knew for sure by now that the digital changeling had been toying with him from the start. "Michael came up next to me, gave me a taunt, transformed into Super Sonic, and then sped off. It was right then when it happened."

"What were you feeling at that moment?" Violet asked.

"Frustrated, tired,… but I was determined I was not going to lose. I just… I don't know how to exactly describe it. I just wanted to win I guess," Dash said peevishly.

Violet decided to let her brother's tone slide for the time being. All the frustration must have been clouding his mind right then. She would be upset too if she had been trying that hard without success. But if what Dash had just said was true, perhaps all that irritation and determination was part of the answer.

Absorbed in his own thoughts, Dash completely missed the whispered conference between his siblings and mother. After a moment the silence was broken, jarring the teenage super from his brooding.

"Well then, little man, I think it's time we gave you some competition," Violet said in her best smug voice. Dash's head whipped up, a clear warning in his eye, as Violet retrieved the family's stop watch from the gym bag they had brought along. "If you can't repeat your little stunt for us within the next minute, you will have to do my chores for the rest of the month," Violet said as she fingered the start button and threw a covert wink at her mother.

Dash stared at his sister for a moment until what she was saying finally registered. When it did, he instantly cried out in protest. "That's not fair! Mom, tell Violet that she can't do that!"

"Actually, she can with my permission," Helen said as she folded her arms, giving a knowing grin to her daughter in the process. "Something that she has for the time being." Dash's mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"You heard her Mr.," Violet grinned wickedly. "Now, put that headset back on and get going." And with a click, the clock was running.

With an angry grunt, the teenage super jammed his headset back on and took off down the track, so quick that he failed to hear Jack-Jack's concerned query: "You're not really going to make Dash do all of Violet's chores, are you Mom?"

Helen turned to her youngest and shrugged. "Maybe," she said with a grin. "Let's wait and see what happens."

Meanwhile, Dash was panting along at a now faltering pace, a dozen frustrated thoughts running through his head. Why was everybody turning on him all of a sudden? Weren't they trying to help him figure out this elusive power? His brain refused to answer; he was so angry and tired he just couldn't think strait. He'd just have to get the answers later, as his efforts were interrupted by Violet's voice over his headset.

"You've got forty-five seconds left, Dash. You don't stand a chance."

Dash ground his teeth, pushing his stride as long as he could without falling flat. He'd show her. She would be sorry for making that bet if he had anything to say about it.

"Thirty seconds. The broom's got your name all over it," Violet goaded.

"Will you cut that out?" Dash yelled back.

Completely ignoring her brother's complaint, Violet continued her relentless taunting. "Twenty seconds, Hot Shot. I'll fill the sink for your date with the dishes."

"Shut Up!"

"Ten, nine, eight,…"

"Violet!"

"…seven, six, five…"

"Will You Just…"

"…four, three, two…"

"SHUT UP!"

From where the family stood, a sonic boom was suddenly heard. From Dash's perspective, everything snapped into perfect clarity as he shot forward, pure energy pulsing through his body. At long last, the mysterious power manifested its self again. Traveling in excess of the speed of sound and in perfect control of his movements, The Falcon flashed around the track, taking careful note of the awed expressions on his family's faces as he passed them time and again within seconds. Dash still didn't know exactly how it had happened and he didn't care at that moment. The feeling of triumph mixed in with the new euphoric surge of energy blotted out any cares he had. For that brief time, Dash was in heaven.

But almost as quickly as it had begun, Dash's already fatigued body began reasserting itself. It was all he could do to slow down without wiping out on pavement. It was as if his mind and body were arguing with each other; the one issuing commands, the other unwilling to obey. As Dash's reflexes and perceptions jerked back to normal, a cloud of exhaustion began to envelop him. As he dropped to what he knew was a safe crash speed, Dash's strength completely failed him. From there everything went black. The unconscious Falcon tumbled to a stop just beyond the finish line.

* * *

"He's coming around."

Dash's eyes slowly opened and scanned his surroundings. He was in a hospital bed, that much he could tell, and judging by the advanced gadgetry and official look of the place, he guessed that he was in the Metroville Super's Infirmary. He could also see his family gathered around him, everyone wearing expressions ranging from worry to relief. Standing in a nearby corner of the room stood the sunken form of Rick Dicker, an old friend of the Parrs and the NSA agent in charge of the Metroville chapter of supers. Dash had met him several times in the past and his Dad had told him stories about how he and Rick had worked together in the old NSA. Now-a-days, Rick worked his post much as he had before the supers ban (mostly keeping everything from flying apart), yet seeing him in a hospital room almost never boded well.

"Dash, you're up!" Jack-Jack chirped.

"Hey there Big Guy," Dash responded groggily.

"How are you feeling, Dash?" Violet asked.

The young man turned toward his sister and a smug smile crossed his face. "I feel like you can do your own chores for the rest of the month, sis."

Violet's face fell. "Ha, ha, Dash," was her sarcastic response. "That's the first thing you say to your sister after being unconscious for a day?"

Dash sat up in surprise. "I've been out for a whole day?" Dash asked, a wave of dizziness sweeping his senses.

"Twenty-two hours actually," Agent Dicker said. "If you were anybody else, you probably would have been out for a whole week. But thanks to your accelerated bodily functions, you'll likely be back to full strength in another day or so."

"Well, that's good," Dash said as he settled back to the pillows. "I want to get back on that new speed power as soon as possible."

"No, Dash."

The young man sat up again, meeting the steady gaze of his mother.

"After your little misadventure yesterday, I think it best you forget about that new ability," Helen said firmly.

"Somehow I knew you were going to say that," Dash sighed as he plopped back down.

"And now we come to that touchy subject again," Rick breathed. "Now that Dash is awake, it's time we resolve what to do about your son's new ability."

"We've been over this Rick," Helen said resolutely. "We are _not_ going to risk my son's life to satisfy the NSA's curiosity, and that's the end of it."

Under different circumstances, Dash would have countered with his pleading "But Mom" shtick: an old trick that failed more often than not, but still won some arguments. However, at that moment he was a little too tired to put up much of a fight. Furthermore, he could see that look in his mother's eye which said, quite clearly, that she was not to be trifled with. Not even Don Quixote would be insane enough to take on that windmill.

But it seemed Rick was going to try anyway.

"Helen, please understand that I value your son's life just as much as you do." Helen's eyes hardened at this, but Agent Dicker kept going. "We've been friends long enough for you to know that I would do anything to help you all out. But at the same time, I still have a job to do. And part of my job is to be familiar with the supers under my jurisdiction: who they are, where they live, and what they can do. If Dash has a new ability, it's my job to learn about it and report it."

"Fine, I'm sure you have his DNA sample somewhere. You can use that," Helen retorted.

"We can only learn so much from DNA in a laboratory," Rick said calmly. "The only way to measure Dash's power is to have him demonstrate it, you know that."

"I have to agree with you, Rick."

Helen spun around, shocked and chagrined by what her husband had just said. "Bob! You've seen what this power does to Dash and yet you want him to continue using it? Don't you even care?"

"Of course I do!" Bob said defensively. "But it's still Dash's ability. If he can learn to control it, then think about what it could do for him, our family, and for the rest of the city!"

"My thoughts exactly."

Everyone in the room turned to face the door where a familiar figure stood. Though his expression was neutral, the newcomer's eyes said that he was keenly aware of the volatile atmosphere in the room. They also betrayed a hint of trepidation in the face of that volatility, and rightfully so.

"Michael!" Violet exclaimed.

"About time you showed up kid," Agent Dicker said.

"Sorry Rick," Michael replied. "I had to tie up some loose ends over at Metro PUD. I'll give you an update on the situation later."

"How long have you been standing there?" Helen demanded.

"7.34 seconds, to be precise," Michael said. "Long enough to know what's going on."

"Do you already know about my speed snap yesterday?" Dash asked.

"Yes, I do. I'm impressed that you were able to pull it off again so soon."

Helen's face darkened. "And being the scientist you are, I bet you are all for finding out more about it, aren't you," she scowled.

A world of warning bells was going off in Dash's mind at this point. He sincerely hoped that his new defendant had picked up on the edge in his mother's voice. Michael would have to tread lightly here if he wanted to keep his head.

"I can see that nothing I'm going to say is going to please you at this point Mrs. Parr, so I won't sugar-coat anything," Michael said, choosing his words carefully. "Yes, I am a researcher. And yes, I am curious about Dash's potential. But I am also Dash's friend and, I would hope, your friend. And as his friend, I think it is in everyone's best interest that his new power be explored."

"Would you care to explain that reasoning to me, young man?" Helen asked bleakly. Dash could almost feel the heat behind her penetrating glare, but he was sure Michael could handle it. He hoped.

"Well, think about it," Michael said. "This power is a part of Dash. It has always been there and it always will be, he just never knew he had it. And now that he's discovered it, there's no way to box it up again. So whether by accident or by his own free will, that power will eventually manifest its self again. When it does, wouldn't you be more comfortable knowing that he can control it?"

Helen said nothing, but her eyes had softened slightly and Dash could tell she was doing some inner searching. Michael went on.

"I contend that Dash and everybody else is in greater danger in Dash's ignorance then in his knowing his capabilities. Left alone, this new ability is powder keg; exactly what you are afraid of. But fully explored, this power can be a great asset. With the right coaching, Dash could very easily become one of the greatest supers of our time. At the very least, he will be able to better contain and control his speed and prevent something like this happening again. True there are risks, but all good things have risks."

An uncomfortable silence hung in the room as the Parrs took this in. Dash for one was totally sold on the idea. The looks he got from his siblings told him that they were every bit as convinced. Dad and Agent Dicker had already voiced their opinions so no worries there, but the final authority had yet to speak. Helen stood there, unmoving as she considered Michael's statements. Dash couldn't tell for sure, but is seemed as though her adamant refusal was wavering. But despite the soundness of the logic, Mom was still having trouble accepting it.

"Come on, Mom," Dash intoned.

"Yeah, show some _flexibility_," Violet finished.

Dash watched anxiously as his mom mulled everything over, praying that she would relent. It was difficult enough to sway her on the trivial things, but it took one stellar argument and a lot of nerves to unseat her opinions on family matters. Perhaps this was one of those rare occasions? Dash could only hope.

"Alright," Helen sighed at last. "But _only_ if you are the one doing the coaching, Michael."

Dash could hardly believe his ears. He had done it! Michael had actually done it! He almost felt like jumping out of bed and dancing, he was so excited. But of course his fatigue tugged just firmly enough to keep him rooted in place. He did manage a hearty whoop as Rick stepped from his corner.

"You don't need to worry about that, Mrs. Parr," the old man said. "Michael's had the assignment since the minute we heard about this. We can assure you that your son will be in good hands."

Helen turned to face the agent with a tepid look on her face. "I'm sure he will be, but that doesn't mean I won't worry. That's practically my job."

* * *

A self satisfied smirk played at Daniel's lip as he looked over his handiwork. Sitting on a shelf near the worktable was the completed MRIE: Memory Reader, Implanter, and Eraser device. On the table sat Daniel's latest achievement: an apparatus that Daniel had simply called The Injector. These two mechanisms would make up the main components of the machine whose blueprints hung from the divider across the room. Until a few days ago, the grand scheme had been nothing more than that drawing. But now with his latest "transaction" behind him Daniel's ambitions where finally becoming reality.

There were still other components to be built and research to be done before everything was ready, but the fact remained that Daniel could now begin his experiments. Just as soon as he secured his test subjects, that is. Daniel's smirk spread into a grin as he contemplated how easy The Incredibles had made that task. If all went according to schedule, he would have his guinea pigs within the week. Then the real work would begin.

All things considered, Daniel had to admit things were going well. Very well indeed.

* * *

**Notes: No, I'm not dead and neither is the story. If those familiar with the story thus far will go back and re-read, you will note some revisions and rewrites here and there. This was necessary to to support the events that will be forthcoming. I repeat my usual request for reviews and constructive criticism, and once I have my head in the right place, the next chapter will be up.**

**A big thank you to R. tistiC and my sister who helped me press out the wrinkles. Also, a huge thank you to Davin Sunrider for his analysis and suggestions. All these things helped chip a sizable hunk off of the old Writer's Block.**


End file.
